Descending Darkness
by LoveGaara06
Summary: Arthur walked out of the meeting for a few minutes, but in how short of a time can an assassination take place? Because of his absence Alfred is in a quickly spent coma & the President & Prime Minister are dead, but who committed these murders? Blood
1. Chapter 1

**HETALIA: AXIS POWERS IS NOT MINE. Sometimes I wish it was though, but doesn't every fangirl? :3**

Human names used

The Political leaders used in this fanfiction do not correspond to any real life leaders! They are all fictional!

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Scribble, scribble, scribble... A young man sat at a desk, papers piled up around him, signing away at multiple different ones. He would pick one up and either grimace or smile at what he read then set it down and sign it. After a while of the same routine, the man set down his pen and leaned back, stretching out his arms above his head, soon getting up to push his chair in.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" the man turned around to find the British Prime Minister standing behind him.

"Taking a break – I'm going to go crazy reading all these political documents without some break here and there. One-thousand years of it can get pretty tiring."

The Prime Minister smiled back at him. "Understood, sir!" He laughed as he walked past Arthur, firmly grabbing his shoulder in a friendly, joking manner. Arthur walked with him, talking and joking around with each other as they made their way to a small kitchen.

"You're going to need to schedule a meeting with America sometime soon."

"Hem?" Arthur glanced up from his kitchen work, or more like his failed attempt to make something edible, "Why?"

"The President and I need to sign this new treaty we have been discussing."

'_One, Twenty-one Guns._

_Lay down your heart. Give up the fight._

_One, Twenty-one guns._

_Throw up your arms into the sky.'_

The sudden music made Arthur jump; not realizing it was his cell phone until he noticed the song.

"Speak of the devil..." Arthur said, reaching in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out to answer, taking a few extra seconds to glance at the stupid picture Alfred had taken of himself the last time they had seen each other.

"Hey~! Iggy!" A loud shout came from the speakers, causing Arthur to quickly pull the phone away from his ear. After the yelling calmed down, he sighed and brought the phone back to his ear, ready to pull it away again if he had to. The Prime Minister watched, looking as amused as ever, but somewhat disgusted at the other country's scream that could be heard half way across the room.

"What do you want, Alfred?" Arthur sighed.

"Awww..." Alfred whined, "How did you know it was me?"

"First off, you are the only person who calls me Iggy. Second, your voice is bloody annoying."

He could just imagine Alfred's face now, pouting, lip out and blank faced because he was insulted.

After a few second of silence Alfred chirped up again, "So! Anyways, my boss wants to meet with yours sometime soon. Would next Wednesday work for you?"

"May-"

"Great! Wednesday it is! At one! That good?"

"I-"

"Ok! So I'll see you then!" Click! _Bzzzzz..._

Arthur stood stunned, taking a moment to realize what just happened, stood glaring at the wall in front of him in annoyance. Sighing again, he turned back to the Prime Minister.

"Apparently," Arthur began, noticeably annoyed, "the meetings next Wednesday at one. I'm _guessing_ at the White House."

"Well then, I guess we have no choice but to go." the Prime Minister smiled as he began walking out of the room. "Let our secretary know we need plane tickets to Washington D.C on Tuesday."

Wednesday came around in no time and Arthur spent his morning walking around the D.C Park, mumbling to himself as he viewed all the memorials Alfred had set up here for so many different people in his history. American history made his stomach turn. It reminded him of the past, which he really never wanted to think about, though his mind always wondered and ended up thinking about it anyways. It was just one of those things that he couldn't erase, and even though it had been almost two-hundred fifty years, the feeling still stuck with him.

Soon enough it was noon and Arthur rushed himself back to his hotel room, changed and made his way to the White House. Luckily he got there in time, and as usual, Alfred hadn't shown up yet. He was probably off stuffing his face somewhere.

Arthur took his seat next to the Prime Minister, who was having a friendly chat with the President.

"Hello, Mr. Kirkland." the President said when he noticed Arthur.

"Hello." He responded with a nod. "I see Alfred isn't here yet..."

"I always plan on waiting at least ten minutes for a meeting he has to attend." The President laughed, completely used to Alfred after two years.

"Well," Arthur let out an annoyed laugh, "isn't that just like Alfred? You would think he would be a little more considerate when it came to his own boss."

"Mr. Jones... can be very interesting at times."

At that moment the meeting room door shot open, Alfred waltzing in, happy as can be. He was humming to himself some tune that sounded like Dynamite by Tiao Cruz as he made his way over to his seat by the President. When he sat down he placed his hands on the table and glanced around the room, grinning like an idiot.

"What'd I miss?" He asked cheerfully. Arthur sighed.

"Just waiting on you, Mr. Jones." the President replied.

"Great! Let's get started then."

At least an hour of discussion passed, fights between Arthur and Alfred breaking out every couple minutes, which took quite a bit of time for their bosses to calm down. Eventually though, things became serious enough for at least a few things to get done.

Arthur stood up and pushed his chair in.

"I'll be back."

"Where you goin'?" Alfred asked.

"If a man has to take care of his business, why is it another's duty to know?"

Alfred stuck his lip out and squinted his eyes in an innocent manner. He was only asking what he was doing, so he didn't have to use a complicated sentence to state he was going to the bathroom.

"Come back quickly," the Prime Minister said, "We still have quite a bit to finish."

"Yes sir."

Arthur walked out of the room, thinking to himself how rude Alfred could be sometimes. He decided he'd take his time, even though his boss said to hurry up. It just made since to him that he should be able to take his time, why did he need to hurry?

Maybe it had been five minutes, maybe ten, Arthur didn't know. He never timed himself while going to the bathroom, there was no point in it. When he opened the meeting room door he was expecting Alfred to whine annoyingly at him, as usual, about him taking so long, but what he found instead puzzled him.

"Alfred?" Arthur asked, eyebrow raised and fully confused as to why Alfred was standing in the middle of the room, alone, the President and Prime Minister nowhere to be found. Maybe they had walked out for a moment, but why would they? There wouldn't really have been a reason for that. "Alfred," Arthur repeated, "What are you doing? Where is everyone?"

Alfred didn't respond, he only stood there, almost as if he was some type of doll. He didn't move, he didn't whine as he normally would, or laugh hysterically as if he was trying to fool him for a few seconds, but still just stood there.

Arthur repeated himself again, walking farther into the room, not bothering to close the door behind. "Alfred, where is everyone? Why are you not answering me?"

With that, Alfred began to slowly turn his head. It scared Arthur somewhat as he did so, even though he didn't believe in zombies, Alfred was acting like one, slowly turning his head like that. Arthur stopped walking and watched Alfred turn his head towards him, wondering why he was taking so long to look at him. When he could finally see the right side of Alfred's face, Arthur stood dumbfounded, shaking from shock.

Only one thought raced through his head.

'_What the bloody hell just happened here? Why is Alfred face full of blood?'_

"Ar... thur..." Alfred managed to say, slow and monotone, right before his body gave out and he crashed to the ground, his head hitting the desk beside him and his glasses shattering from the impact.

"Alfred!" Arthur screamed, rushing over to him, but something else caught his eye as he bent down to help him. The President and Prime Minister, or at least who he thought was them, laid on the ground, mutilated, unrecognizable, blood all over their faces and pools of their own blood on the ground beneath them. It looked as if it had been the work of guns for a moment, but then the sight of deep wounds and cuts looked like the doing of knifes. He didn't know what to think; only short questions ran through his mind.

'_Was it guns? Knives? Both? A different kind of weapon? Who did it? Why was Alfred the only one left standing? When did it happen? Why? Why did it happen? How could it have happened? Why did it happen while I was gone? What if I was here? Could I have prevented it? Why wasn't I here?'_

By this time Arthur was shaking from rage and fear, unable to grasp the fact that this had all taken place in the small amount of time he was gone. He took hold of Alfred shoulder and turned him on his back, moving his head away from the desk and picking up his glasses. Arthur set the glasses beside him, and held Alfred's head up with both his hands, biting his lip. He wasn't going to cry, not here. Why would he?

The pain that he felt when he watched Alfred fall hit him. He didn't notice it before because of shock, but now, now he could feel it. Arthur felt sick, nauseated, his stomach turning at every little thing he did, his heart felt heavy, heavy enough to beat out of his chest, and the pain jarred him almost unconscious.

He didn't want to see his once-colony like this. He loved Alfred, and no matter what he told himself, no matter how many fights they got in, no matter how often he told Alfred he hated him, he never could. He could _never_ hate him, and he knew that. Arthur had _never _wanted to see Alfred, the one who called himself a 'hero', the kid he raised himself, laying on the ground unconscious, and blood all over him.

After Arthur called 911, the police came in almost minutes, pulling Alfred up onto a stretcher, and covering the bodies of the President and Prime Minister. Arthur rode in the ambulance with Alfred on the way to the hospital, still trying his hardest to keep himself together. He didn't want to cry in front of these people, he didn't want to cry at all, he wasn't meant to cry, but Alfred was hurt, and he couldn't hold himself there forever, not letting himself go, not letting himself cry. Once they got somewhere he could have some privacy, he would take it. Maybe cry, maybe just for the silence, but he needed some time alone.

When they made it to the hospital, Arthur followed them to the emergency room, sitting just outside the doors, waiting for information on Alfred's condition. Finally, after hours of anxious waiting, a nurse came out and informed him.

"Mr. Kirkland?" She asked, standing in front of him

Arthur looked up; his hands clasped together and arms resting on his knees, holding back tears. "Yes? That's me."

His strong British accent surprised her, "Oh, um... Mr. Jones..."

"What about him? Is he hurt badly? When will he recover? How long will he be here? Is he awake yet?"

"Whoa, hold up." She gave a small smile, "One at a time please."

"Sorry, I'm just anxious..."

"I understand. Everyone is in times like these."

"So, how bad is he hurt?"

"He isn't hurt too badly. His physical injuries should heal within a few weeks."

Arthur let out a relieved sigh, "And how long will he be here then?"

"That's the thing... We don't know. He hasn't woken up yet, and we don't know when he will..."

"What?"

"He's in a coma. So we don't know when he'll wake up."

Arthur's eyes widened. Alfred? In a coma? Comas were serious! Serious, damn it! How could Alfred be in a coma?

"Oh…" Arthur dropped his eyes to the ground.

"We're bringing him up to his room right now; I'll come and get you if you want to visit when we're ready."

"Yes, I'd like that. Thank you."

As Arthur sat in Alfred's hospital room, watching him anxiously as he slept, waiting for something to happen, for him to open his eyes even though he knew that wouldn't happen anytime soon, he couldn't help but wonder how this happened. If it was only because of the assassinations, he would be in the same situation, so it couldn't have been. Did his wounds contribute to it? Though, all the wounds he had seen on Alfred didn't seem to be enough to cause him to go into a coma.

Kneeling at his bed side, Arthur took hold of Alfred's limp hand, wrapping both his hands around Alfred's, setting his forehead lightly on his own clasped hands. The feelings Arthur had kept hidden from everyone since the very beginning of all this reached their peak. He couldn't hold them down any longer, the thought and sight of Alfred, his little brother, in a coma caused all the guilt he felt for leaving him, for leaving all of them, to make him sick, sicker than he had ever been.

Small tears swelled up in his eyes, blurring his vision, eventually even unable to keep himself together at all, he burst out in tears, wailing at even the a slightest thought of Alfred sleeping in front of him. Doctors and nurses rushed in and tried to calm him down, but they couldn't do anything, he just kept crying, unable to stop. How could he have let this happen to his precious little brother?

Time passed slowly, much too slowly for Arthur, who waiting right beside Alfred, anxiously awaiting his recovery. Even though he knew Alfred wouldn't wake up anytime soon, he still waited, still hoped, that his little brother would wake up and laugh at him, saying something like _'You feel for it, Iggy!'_ But he wouldn't, and it scared him. It scared him that there was no telling when Alfred would open his eyes again, no telling when he would laugh with his stupid, obnoxious voice again, no telling how long it would be till he would even smile again. How long would it be?

Days passed and Arthur only left the hospital when he had to, mostly at night after visiting hours, but he came straight back in the morning only to sit next to Alfred yet again. Once in a while Arthur would watch as some of the other countries came to visit Alfred, apologizing to him about what had happened. One of the most noticeable people being Francis Bonnefoy.

Francis walked into the room with his usual gracefulness, though definitely much more serious. He, too, seemed to be quite worried about Alfred, or maybe it was the fact that he could imagine how bad Arthur felt by thinking of Mathew in the same situation. No matter what the reason was, he still seemed to care.

He made his way over to Alfred, standing at the end of his bed, gazing at him with grieving eyes.

"Angleterre…" Francis said, glancing over at Arthur who sat in the guest chair.

He looked up at him, his eyes weak in sorrow. "What?"

"Il va se reveiller un jour. Ne vous blamez pas pour ce.*" Arthur stared at him with a blank expression on his face, he still couldn't speak French that well. Francis sighed.

"He'll wake up, so don't blame yourself for this."

"I know…" Arthur looked down at his feet, resting his arms on his knees, "But if I was there... I could have done something to prevent this…" He felt the light placing of a hand on his back and shot his eyes up to see Francis's face.

"Vieil ami*… What's done is done. You can't change the past, you can only live with it, and Amérique _will_ wake up."

Arthur couldn't think of anything to say in reply, all he could do was sit and think about what Francis had said, and he knew it was all true, but he didn't want to accept that fact that he couldn't change anything. He _wanted_ to change it, but no matter if he tired, it wouldn't change anything, because you really can't change the past. But what if he could? What could he have prevented?

Francis slowly moved his way across the room to the other side of Alfred's bed, his head bent down in sadness, wishing he could do something to make Arthur feel better.

"Revielle soudemaine, ami.*" He mumbled to Alfred as he walked out of the room.

Within the next few days after Francis's visit, Arthur had gotten a phone call from his government asking him to come home so he could take care of things there. He didn't want to leave, but he didn't have much of a choice. England was in a bit of a predicament with the assassination of the Prime Minister, so he had to go back and fix things, though that would mean he would have to leave Alfred alone. After a while he decided it was for the best to see to things in England, so he got ready to leave, saying goodbye to Alfred, but he swore to himself that he would come back and check on him every chance he got. Arthur wasn't going to leave him alone the whole time while he was in a coma. There was no way he would do that.

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**So, what do you think? This will be getting pretty bloody later on, and there will be no yaoi. Just major brotherly love(there will be nothing romantic going on between these two in this fic). France will make his appearance again in later chapters.  
**

**Translation notes:**

**Il va se reveiller un jour. Ne vous blamez pas pour ce. - He'll wake up sometime. Don't blame yourself for this.**

**Vieil ami - Old friend**

**Revielle soudemaine ami - Wake up soon, friend**


	2. Chapter 2

Weeks passed and Arthur flew back and forth between England and America so often he had learned to spend twelve hours on a plane at least every week, sometime more. Every time Arthur sat beside Alfred he wished with all his heart he would just wake up. Just wake up! Why wouldn't he wake up? The weeks grew into months, and Arthur didn't know what to do. He didn't know if he should keep coming back, if he should just stay in England and wait for someone to notify him if Alfred woke up, or if he should just keep waiting.

By the second month, most of England and America had calmed down about the assassinations, and all the questions about the murder had died down also. There was no one to ask about it, so all they could do was investigations, and nothing had turned up from those. The only other person to ask was Alfred, who was still in a coma, so most people had given up on finding the answers.

Arthur made trips back and forth between the countries quite often during that month, and by the middle of the month he was dead tired. He would sleep as he visited Alfred, but he could never sleep well anywhere, he was to worried about Alfred waking up, of him getting better and finally being able to see his smile again.

Arthur waited; he waited patiently, almost everyday in that hospital room for Alfred. He sat in the guest chair, watching him, or sleeping, it was always one of the two, never anything else.

"Ar… thur..?"

Arthur's eyes shot open.

"Iggy?"

He jumped out of seat, sliding to the edge of the bed. "Alfred!" Arthur cried, tears streaming down his face. He threw his arms around the other nation's neck, halfway laying on him. At this point it didn't matter if Alfred way lying down, or just woke up, Arthur couldn't help but show the happiness he felt to hear Alfred's stupid voice again after two and a half months. Hugging him with all his strength, Arthur couldn't let go, his little brother had finally woken up!

"I-Iggy!" Alfred choked, his face cringing in pain, "Iggy! I c-can't breathe!"

Arthur quickly let go, pulling himself up off the bed, coughing in embarrassment as a nurse ran into the room.

Alfred looked around the room in a confused manner, his head barely moving side to side.

"Why am I here?" He mumbled softly, taking his lazy gaze back to Arthur.

"You were in a coma, Alfred..." Arthur said softly, trying not to completely upset him.

"What?" The information wasn't processing. How did he go into a coma?

"A coma, Alfred…" Arthur repeated, "You were in a coma…"

Alfred's eyes widened, "How did I manage that?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, "You don't remember?"

"Should I?"

"Alfred, during that meeting, when I left…" He paused, not wanting to tell Alfred about what happened to the President, "There was an assassination… You don't remember any of that?"

"Assassination? But… does that mean the President is…?"

Arthur dropped his eyes to the ground and took a deep breath, "Both he and the Prime Minister…"

Alfred's vision blurred as he let out a long moan, "Why don't I remember?" He cried, tears bursting from his eyes and streaming down his face like rivers.

There was nothing Arthur could do as he watched the self-proclaimed "hero" cry, cry for the feeling his people had felt after the horrible news, the feelings his people still felt at that very moment. It all hit him at once, all the emotions of his people bottled up in him after two months showed in this one moment, and it hurt Arthur to see him like this.

The sudden news was enough to tire Alfred out, and within a few minutes he was sleeping again, but this time Arthur knew he would wake up which made him less tense about it. He knew Alfred probably wouldn't have been able to stay awake very long when he finally did wake up again for the first time, so he was able to leave the rest up to the nurses who knew what they were doing.

With a few last words to a peacefully sleeping Alfred, Arthur made his way out of the hospital room to get ready to go back to England. He didn't want to go, knowing Alfred had awoke for even just a little while, but he had to.

The nurses took full care of Alfred as he fully recovered over the next few days and made sure to notify Arthur of his condition. It didn't take long for Alfred to recuperate, seeing as how he wasn't necessarily "human", so the symptoms that would be normal for most people didn't affect him, making things a lot easier on the nurses. He would complain every once in a while about how much he could eat, or how bad hospital food tasted, but there wasn't much he could do about it besides wait 'til he could leave.

Within a week Alfred was up for almost the whole day and quite fit to leave, finally able to go back to his own house. On the day of his leave, Mathew Williams came to see him and make sure he got home all right, though Alfred would have almost refused any help if it hadn't been for Mathew being so persistent. He was home in a few hours and doing quite well throughout the course of the week, and even if he did need help, he never admitted it to Mathew who had stayed with him for a week.

Everything was going fine for Alfred in the next few months. He had gotten used to the new President, answered all the public interviews about his absence, and even attended multiple government meetings. Now he was going to attend a party for government officials and their families. This party of course had to take place at one of the best five star hotels in D.C, meaning for anyone who wasn't a government official, they would have to pay quite a bit of money to get in. Luckily, Alfred got in free, as always, with a suite for the night too.

"Welcome, Mr. Jones." the bell boy said. Opening the door, and bowing to Alfred, taking his coat and bags and setting them on a cart. "Your room number is nine eleven." He held out his hand with a card key in it.

Alfred shivered, "Nine eleven? Does that just happen to be coincidental or was that on purpose?" He laughed, taking the key.

"Oh…" the bell boy understood what Alfred was thinking and stood dumbfounded that he didn't notice that the room might not have been the best pick for him. "Sorry Mr. Jones, I'll change it if you want."

"Aw, nah." He waved the back of his hand at the bell boy as he walked off towards the ballroom, "It's fine, but if you want to I wouldn't mind either!" he laughed knowing he just contradicted himself, probably confusing the poor kid.

As he reached the ballroom the Vice-President or President now anyway, came up and greeted him with a drink in his hand, laughing with him and inviting him to enjoy himself, seeing as how the party _was_ for _his_ government. There was talking, laughing, little kids running around, music, and drinks, though who knew if this was a party he could drink at, seeing as how he was "underage" still.

"Hey," Alfred began, smiling and glancing at the President who had his arm around his shoulder, "What do you say if I have a few drinks while I'm here?"

"Sure!" The President laughed, shaking the drink in his hand, "That is, the soda."

Alfred stuck his lip out and whined, "But I'm technically four hundred years old!"

"Four hundred?"

"Ever hear of Jamestown?" Alfred grinned, "I lived there in 1607. Iggy found me then actually…" He pondered over that for a minute, putting his hand up to his chin.

"Well then," The President teased, "You're still mentally nineteen, so it's still a no."

"Awww! But-but!"

"No buts!" The President took his arm off from around Alfred's shoulders and pointed an index finger up in the air, "It'll be a no because it wouldn't be right to give you an exception and none of the other teenagers one."

As the President walked off to go greet the other guests, Alfred stood and mumbled to himself, glaring at the President, "I can drink in Europe _and_ Canada… and I'm _not_ a teenager… I'm nineteen, a legal adult..."

As the party went on more and more guests came, all of them greeting Alfred. There were many conversations he had gotten into with multiple people, some he couldn't even remember since there were so many of them, but he tried his best to please everyone as well as he could. Sometime he would accidentally insult someone, but it wasn't his fault he didn't feel like reading the atmosphere very often, he only did when he had to. People walked past him with wine in their hands, or some type of alcohol, he thought he might have seen vodka a few times, and then all the martinis, he couldn't even have those tonight! It all really depended on the President. Some would say he could drink, others said not at all, some gave him a few exceptions. He eventually had gotten used to it, but he still liked to have an alcoholic drink every once in a while. That once in a while wasn't tonight though obviously.

A young woman walked up to Alfred, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. It was one of the senators, and he was guessing she wanted to talk politics. They always want to talk politics. Why couldn't they want to talk about something like comics, or maybe even those weird soap operas?

"Hello, Mr. Jones?"

"That's me!" Alfred grinned.

"Ah, hello there." She smiled back at him and put her hands together over the front of her dress, "How are you this evening?"

"Pretty dang good, thanks, besides those martini trays passing by me!" He laughed.

"Hem? What do you mean? You can't drink?"

"No… I guess the President doesn't want me too…" he sighed, "Though, I'm definitely older than anyone in this room, but I guess my physical _and_ mental age have to be twenty-one."

"Oh. Well, at least we know we won't have a drunk America on our hands, yes?" She giggled.

"True, true. It's still not fair though…" Alfred pouted.

"So, what did you think of the Presidents assassination a few months ago? I haven't heard anything about your opinion on that yet." She changed it to a serious conversation. Yay, Alfred totally wanted one of these again. Was the fact that he was in a coma and doesn't remember anything click in anyone's mind? Then again, this _was_ America, and he was pretty oblivious to everything, so it made since everyone else was too.

"Hem… I can't really say much on the matter… I was there, but I don't remember _anything_ from that… It's as if someone knocked me out right away within the first blow, though, Iggy says I was the last one standing, so I have no idea."

"Iggy? Who's that?"

"Arthur Kirkland. England. It's my nickname for him."

"What an interesting nickname!"

"I know right? He hates it when I call him that though." Alfred had a huge grinned painted across his face, since when did he ever get to talk about Arthur's nickname?

At that moment, Alfred jerked his head up straight, his grin gone and a sort of fear now across his face, making him look stoic.

"Mr. Jones?" The woman asked reaching her hand up to place on his shoulder, "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" He looked back at her, "Oh yeah, I'm fine." he forced a smile, "I, uh, have to go take care of a few things now though, so, I will, um, get back to you later."

He was gradually moving his feet to back away from her, waving his hand slowly at her to say goodbye. Turning around Alfred began walking to a hallway, his slow stride looking forced, quickly picking up speed the closer he got. As soon as he was out the doors and into the hall where no one could see him, he picked his feet up and ran, running as fast as he could to the other end of the hall, pulling the rooms doors open and shutting himself inside, his back up against the door and sweat rolling down his face.

'_Hey…'_

'_Remember that day?'_

'_You know. **That**__ day.' _

'_That one day…'_

'_Re~member~?'_

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**Well, here you have it. Chapter 2! Sorry, I ended you on a cliff hanger, but you'll just have to wait till next week!**** Most of this chapter was just extra little things I felt like mentioning in a fic, such as Alfred's drinking age and such. :D**_  
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	3. Chapter 3

_A body laid on the ground, eyes slightly open, the pressure of a dark figures foot on its stomach. Blood slowly seeped from the body to the man__'s feet, a large, red pool gradually building up around the body._

_A gun shot. Things go black._

_Multiple gun shots. Still black._

_A scream. A yell. More Screams._

_Laughing…_

Alfred stood up against the door, his back pressed firmly against it. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to do anything. Fear crept up his back, grabbing at his throat, making him choke, unable to breathe. The air felt heavy, his arms felt cold, his heart was beating out of control as sweat rolled down his back and neck.

Alfred gasped for air, shoving himself harder up against the door, scratching at the wood attempting to grab hold of something, anything. His body was shaking uncontrollably, his knees ready to give out on him. Mist fogged up his vision as he bit his lip, the hairs on his neck standing up.

'_You remember.'_

'_Don't you?'_

'_Hehehehe…'_

'_Phone... I need my phone!' _Alfred thought, dashing his hand to his back pocket, and quickly pulling it back again. His phone wasn't there. Still shaking, he hurriedly moved his wet, trembling hands from pocket to pocket, though his actions failed. He didn't have his phone with him, it was in his room. Unknowing what to do, Alfred continued to shake wildly, fear creeping all around him and to keep himself from crying, he bit down on his lip, whimpering from the terror building up in him.

'_Come on.'_

'_Remember.'_

'_You know you want to.'_

As Alfred began slowly letting himself slip to the floor, a maid opened the other door and walked in, staring at him.

"Mr. Jones?" She asked, fully concerned by being able to see the sweat on his face, "Why are you here? Do you need help?"

Alfred jerked himself up from falling the rest of the way to the ground and looked back at her, a fake smile painted on his face. "Fine – I'm fine! Nothing to worry about!"

He crept his way out of the room, passing by her and trying to act calm. Once he was out of the room and back into the hall, he looked back over his shoulder, watching the maid begin to cautiously close the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, he ran to the other end, stopped at the ballroom door, and forced himself to walk through, not looking behind him.

As soon as he reappeared, many people that wanted to talk to him came walking up to him, but he walked faster, ignoring them and once he reached the ballroom staircase to the elevators, he jolted to them, not taking a second glance at anything. At the ninth floor, he reached in his pocket for his key, running full speed down the hall to find his room, and unlocked it, diving in. He rapidly took off his suit coat, throwing it on the ground and not bothering to hang it up, ran to his bags next to the bed and dug threw them, finding his phone in the side pocket.

Grabbing the phone he jumped up and sat on his bed, rocking back and forth as he waited for Arthur to answer. With a quick glance at the clock which read 9:34, Alfred closed his eyes and mumbled to himself.

"Please get up, Iggy! Answer! Please answer!"

'_Hehehehe…'_

'_Why should he care for you?'_

'_He was the one who let you go through this.'_

When Arthur didn't answer Alfred fell back on his bed as tears flooded down his face and he whimpered as he tried not to make noise. He put in Arthur's number again, and as soon as it began to ring he threw himself under the blankets, covering his head with them while his back was as far against the mattress as he could get it. Alfred wouldn't release his hands from the blankets nor would he move. He felt as though something was always behind him, watching him, wanting to kill him.

"What the bloody hell, Alfred?" Arthur's voice was harsh and angry, furious that Alfred had called and woke him up. "What is the matter with you? Why the bloody hell would you call me at four in the damn morning?"

"Iggy!" Alfred wailed, unable to keep himself quite any longer, "I-I'm so scared! I can't move I'm so scared!"

"What?" Arthur's rage was traded for concern. Hearing Alfred's crying plea of fear wasn't right, he rarely ever cried.

"I keep seeing glimpses of that meeting and hearing voices! They won't leave me alone, Iggy! I'm laying down and I have the blankets over my head 'cause I don't even want to look out! I'm so scared I'm shaking and I can't even lift my back off the bed! I don't want to move!" Alfred couldn't stop crying, his voice kept cracking from the emotions and the wailing never ended.

'_It's all your fault.'_

'_It's you who got yourself into this.'_

'_Remember..?'_

"The voices won't go away! I don't want to be here alone, Iggy! I'm so scared! Don't leave me alone! Please!" Alfred finished with a whimper.

Arthur had already gotten up and dressed by this time, "I'll be there as soon as I can, Alfred." He hung up the phone and headed for the door, already ready to leave. The only left to do was call on a private jet to get him there, he would find out where Alfred was on the way.

Alfred was still crying and shaking, not knowing what he should do. He didn't want to do anything but have this fear go away. Was the assassination really that bad to where just the memories placed this much horror on him?

* * *

"Alfred!" A voice shouted from behind the heavy, hotel room door, soon unlocking it and rushing in.

Arthur looked around the suite for a few moments, trying to find the other nation, soon seeing the bedroom and running into it, turning on the light. Six hours later from the time he had called him, Alfred was still buried under the blankets, trembling and crying.

"Alfred!" Arthur dashed over to the terrified nation, "Alfred, I'm here now. It's okay. You're okay."

With those few words, Alfred jumped up and threw his arms around Arthur's neck, clinging to him and crying just like he used to when he was a colony, causing Arthur to stumble back a little. Alfred hugged him tightly, unwilling to let go. There was no way he would be alone again right now.

"Iggy!" Alfred wailed, oceans of tears streaming down his face which was buried in Arthur's shoulder. "Don't leave! I don't want to be alone! I'm scared! Don't leave me here!"

Arthur placed his hand on Alfred's back, hugging him back with just as much strength, "You're okay now, you're okay. I'm right here. I'm not leaving."

As he slowly stoked Alfred's hair, trying to calm him, he set his head on Alfred's, closing his eyes, wishing the boy would finally relax and be able to sleep.

"Where you in that same position this whole time, Alfred?" Arthur asked softly.

Alfred nodded back, still crying. Arthur sighed, worried about his little brother.

"You're fine now. I won't let anything get to you. I promise."

Alfred continued to cry, his uncontrollable fear growing worse and worse. Arthur stayed quiet for a long time, just letting the poor country cry, wishing to do something. As he listened to him cry the lyrics of a song found their way back into his head, and hoped they would help Alfred sleep. With a soft, gentle voice, he began singing.

"Little child, be not afraid.  
Though rain pounds harshly against the glass,  
like an unwanted stranger, there is no danger.  
I am here tonight.

Little child, be not afraid.  
Though thunder explodes and lightning flash  
illuminates your tear-stained face,  
I am here tonight.

Little child, be not afraid.  
Though storm clouds mask your beloved moon,  
and its candlelight beams, still keep pleasant dreams.  
I am here tonight.

Little child, be not afraid.  
Though wind makes creatures of our trees,  
and their branches to hands, they're not real understand.  
I am here tonight.

For you know, once even I was a  
little child, and I was afraid,  
but a gentle someone always came  
to dry all my tears, trade sweet sleep for fears  
and to give a kiss goodnight.

Well now I am grown  
and these years have shown  
that rain's a part of how life goes.  
But its dark and it's late  
so I'll hold you and wait  
'til your frightened eyes do close.

And I hope that you'll know  
that nature is so.  
The same rain that draws you near me  
falls on rivers and land,  
on forests and sand,  
makes the beautiful world that you'll see  
in the morning.

Everything's fine in the morning…

The rain'll be gone in the morning…

But I'll still be here in the morning…"

Alfred's crying died down to a whimper as he sung, and Arthur moved him back down to the bed, still singing. As Alfred's eyes fell closed and his fear died away for the time being, Arthur stroked his hair lightly, just like he used to, comforting him with his voice until he was fully asleep.

When Arthur finished singing, he slowly moved his hand away from Alfred's face, stood up and walked over to a couch beside the bed. After he sat down, he got comfortable, knowing he would probably be sitting there for a long time, watching over Alfred. He kept his eyes on him, but as his jet lag caught up with him, he too drifted to sleep.

_A person stumbled in front of a dark figured, only just out of its reach. It was as if he was frightened, trying to get away from it, running as fast as he could, but tripping and being caught up by it again. Blood ran down his face and clothes, trails following him from behind._

_The sound of tearing flesh. Things go red._

_A gun shot. Pain._

_Everything turns black._

_Snickering…_

Alfred's eyes shot open. A scream caught in his throat. He threw his head under the blankets, moaning and trembling with fear, his back firmly against the bed again.

'_It's your fault'_

'_All your fault.'_

'_Heheheh…'_

Upon hearing Alfred's cowering whimpers, Arthur jolted himself awake, rushing over to his bed side and kneeling down beside him. He tried tugging on the covers to get Alfred to let go, but his grip just got stronger and his whining louder.

"Alfred," Arthur said softly, "There's nothing here, you don't need to hide."

With shaking hands Alfred slowly inched his head back out, then looked at Arthur, his eyes red from crying, and biting his lip. Arthur put one of his hands on Alfred's head and took hold of his hand with the other.

"You don't need to be scared. I won't let anything hurt you."

As Alfred calmed down, his eyes drifted closed, still sniffling. Even though he was scared, as long as Arthur was there he felt safer.

The same routine happened over the next couple hours. Alfred would wake up terrified and Arthur would comfort him, letting him fall back asleep. By the time it was ten in the morning Arthur opened the shades, light flowing into the room and Alfred calmly woke, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, this time not by fear. During the night Alfred had woken up at least six times, causing Arthur to have had very little sleep.

Arthur stood next to the room window, drinking his tea and looking out over D.C, soon glancing over at Alfred, noticing he was waking up. Alfred looked around with sleepy eyes, stopping when he caught sight of Arthur.

"Hi, Iggy…" He mumbled, turning his head away.

"Alfred." Arthur greeted with a nod, then beginning to walk over to him, "How are you?"

"Better…" Alfred sighed, looking down at his hands and taking hold of the blankets again, pulling them up to his chin, "I think…"

Arthur nodded, stopping and turning around, then looked over his shoulder, "Hold on."

He walked off into another room, which just happened to be the kitchen. A few minutes later he returned, a mug in his hand and passed it to Alfred.

"Here." Arthur said, placing the cup in front of him. "It's coffee."

Alfred cringed a little, "Are you sure you didn't kill it?"

"It was Keurig* coffee, so it should be fine, I _can_ cook other coffee though too. I added plenty of sugar and cream for you but I don't understand how you can drink it like that."

Alfred took the coffee, trusting the machine enough to at least be able to improve Arthur's cooking skills at least a little, and took a sip. It ended up being better than he expected, though still not as good as Starbucks. Arthur moved his way over to the couch, allowing himself to relax.

Realizing he should probably say something, seeing as how Alfred still looked miserable, Arthur began to speak.

"Alfred, what happened last night that made you so afraid?"

Alfred set his coffee on his lap, "I…" He hesitated, "I started remembering things…"

"From the assassination?" Alfred nodded. "What was it?"

"I don't know... It's in bits and pieces, and they're too different and short to put together… I only saw glimpses… and then voices… Things would go black and I would hear things from it… But I couldn't see anything…" He glanced up at Arthur, "I don't want to remember, Iggy. The memories scare me… There's always blood, always screaming… and laughing. Someone's always laughing…"

Arthur didn't know how to respond, he didn't know how to comfort him, he had no thought on what to say. This was the first time he had seen him like this and he didn't know what to do. The description of Alfred's memories even scared him, so he couldn't imagine how he felt.

Things were silent for a while, and Alfred began to slowly drink his coffee again, trying to make himself feel better. As he stared into the light brown liquid by his lips, a tear rolled down his nose, splashing into the cup. He was still horrified, but Alfred didn't want to say anything, he didn't want to bother Arthur with it anymore. Arthur had already flown all the way from England, giving up at least two or three days of his own for him, just because he was scared of a few memories. He shouldn't have to worry about him anymore.

Suddenly, Alfred jumped, startled by Arthur's unexpected actions of hugging him.

"You don't have to be scared, Al. I'm here for you, remember that."

Mist fogged up Alfred's eyes as he leaned into Arthur's embrace. He trusted Arthur's word, and he was thankful to hear it.

* * *

**Awww, the cute brotherly love! *stares off into space* Anyways, chapter 3! Im keeping a good constant update going arnt i? :D Well, my dear readers, this is what happens when you write 5 chapters a head. LOL Anyways, so as you can see, anything dealing with Alfred's memories or things he hears in his head are italicized and centered. I think it looks better like that since my double spacing wont stay when I upload it. **

**Yes, yes, I know! Lullaby for a Stormy Night! How more cliche can I get? Well, actually I love that song and it fit the mood, so yeah. And I know its been used in other fanfics(or at least one I read, but that was an AmericaXFem!England fanfic...) But, deal with it!**

**Keurig - a simple coffee maker for instant coffee (most of the time coffee specially made for it though).**

**I have also decided that Mathew will be making a short appearance later on and then a longer one(but still a bit short) after that. :D**


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur stayed with Alfred for a few days, making sure he was fine and could handle himself again. When he finally left, they went back to their normal selves, fighting and hating each other, but even so they still cared greatly for each other. They were family and nothing was going to change that.

A few weeks later, yet another party was scheduled, or more like a meeting for the American and British government leaders. While the families and other guests enjoyed themselves down in the ballroom of the hotel, the government officials would have a meeting on one of the upper floors. It was the perfect thing for families to be with each other while they could still work. This would take place in England this time, and so a few days before Alfred took off to England and checked into the hotel.

The party would start any minute now, and Arthur waited by the ballroom door for Alfred, greeting others as they came in.

"Where is that git?" Arthur muttered to himself, looking around the hall, and as usual, just as he said something Alfred ran up to him.

"Hey, Iggy!" He hollered, grinning as usual, "What's up?"

"Where have you been, twit?" Arthur yelled, "What took you so long?"

"Well, I didn't know you'd be waiting for me."

Arthur sighed, "At least you showed up." Alfred laughed, walking into the ballroom. Arthur glanced over his shoulder at him, "Hey, Alfred…" He said gently, "If anything happens, you let me know, okay?"

Alfred hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth between the floor and Arthur's face. When he finally spoke his voice had died down to a distressed whisper, "Yeah… okay."

**~)(~*First Person Narration (Alfred's point of view)*~)(~**

I took a look around the room as I walked in, Arthur still waited by the door, greeting guests. There were a lot of people there, much more then the last party I was at, but then again, this was people from two different countries. Many people talked to me from both England and my own nation, though none of the conversations were interesting. Everyone just talks about politics, which isn't any fun.

As I walked around, I took some time wondering around the buffet, half of the people in the room giving me weird looks thanks to the fact of how much food I took. Though if you're hungry, you should take a lot of food, right? Or was I taught wrong? Either way, I was satisfied, for the most part, and continued on exploring the room.

After I had tried eating and walking around, I stopped and leaned against one of the far walls, just watching everyone talk and enjoy themselves, and of course finishing off my food. I then spotted Arthur off in the far right of the room, talking to multiple people at once, seeming to enjoy himself.

As I watched the party from afar it reminded me of a time back in the mid 1800's. A party – a southern party; back before the civil war. I closed my eyes and remembered people talking, people dancing, enjoying themselves with no cares. It was a wonderful memory, one I would go back to if I had the chance.

'_Would you really go back?'_

'_To the civil war?'_

'_To the south?'_

I quickly opened my eyes, staring straight in front of me, but instead of seeing things like I should have, the figures ahead became blurry rather rapidly, everything going black in only a few seconds. I didn't black out, but I wasn't fully conscious either, it was as if I was in an in-between space, and I could still feel myself propped up against the wall.

_The President laid on the ground, his eyes struggling to stay open, the pressure of someone__'s foot on his stomach; I still couldn't make out whom. Blood slowly seeped from the Presidents body to the man's feet, a large, red pool gradually building up around him._

_The man fired a gun, shooting the President in the leg._

_He shot him again, multiple times all in different places, blood flying up around him._

_The President screamed. The Prime Minister looking on, knife through his wrist pinned against the wall, yelled at the man to stop. The President screamed again as he was shot in the head._

_The killer had been laughing manically the whole time…_

_And then things went black._

As soon as the memory went black, I started trembling. It was more detailed this time, _much_ more detailed, and it scared me to no end. I had to tell Arthur before they got any worse. Even though I was shaking, scared to move my back from the wall, scared more memories would come in detailed flashes back, I slowly moved forward. As I approached the other side of the room where Arthur was standing, I reached out my hand, ready to tap him on the shoulder and tell him what happened.

'_He'll only hate you.'_

'_He'll hate you if you ask for his help.'_

'_He doesn't want to deal with you, can't you see that?'_

'_You don't need to tell him. __**Don't**__ tell him.'_

'_You don't want him to hate you.'_

'_**Do**__ you?'_

I hesitated, jerking my hand back and watching Arthur start to walk away without realizing I was there. I _knew_ he didn't notice me, but even so, the fact he walked away hurt me, it hurt me so much. Stepping back a few times, somewhat stumbling, I watched Arthur walk farther and farther away from me, and I could feel myself holding back tears.

Quickly turning around, I started walking towards a door, any door. I didn't know which way I was going, I just saw a door and took my leave through it, dashing through it as fast as I could. Before I realized it I had run through multiple hallways, not caring that I was lost, and somehow ended up in a smaller, unoccupied ballroom.

I threw the doors open, closing them behind me and running into the middle of the cleared room.

'_Hey…'_

'_Remember that day?'_

I jerked my head to look behind me, the room beginning to feel as though it was spinning, "Who are you?" I screamed.

'_Hehehe… Remember what we did to them?'_

I threw my head around to look to my right, my eyes darting in every which direction, "What do you want?"

'_It's all your fault.'_

I quickly looked behind me again, then up and to my left, "I didn't do anything!" The room continued to spin faster.

'_It's all your fault they're dead.' _The voice snickered.

I spun around multiple time, glancing in so many directions I couldn't even keep up with what I was seeing, "I never did anything!"

'_It's your fault because you never listen.'_

"Who are you?" By this time I had looked up, down, behind me, in front, everywhere. There was no one there, but I continued to look, and the room continued to spin.

'_You refused to listen to me.'_

I threw my head up, screaming, "Shut up!"

'_You denied my existence.'_

I threw my hands to my head, still looking up, my body trembling and knees ready to give out, "Just shut up!"

'_You denied yourself.'_

"Go away!" I shrieked, screaming from fear and pain.

'_Because, after all, you __**are**__ me.'_

I began losing sight of things, everything blurring as I forced my head down, my fingers gripping tightly on my skull, "I'm n-not..!"

'_And I…'_

As I began to hear these words I felt myself slipping from consciousness, things getting darker and darker, something creeping its way up threw me.

'…_Am __**you**__.'_

Right as these words finished, I could no longer see, everything just felt as though it was spinning, as though I was no longer in control of myself. The last thing I heard before I lost complete consciousness was laughing_. I _was laughing. It was _me_ laughing.

The next thing I knew I was looking down at Arthur, who was on the floor looking up at me the best he could in horror.

"Iggy?" I asked, very confused, "What are you doing?"

When he didn't answer, I got concerned, and looked down at my feet. What I saw petrified me; I hadn't the slightest idea how I had gotten there, or why I had been doing what I was doing. It looked as though I had crushed Arthur's left arm with my foot, and looking back at his left leg, it too had been broken, and blood from a gunshot to the shoulder stained his clothes.

"Wha…" I began shaking again, "What… No!" I backed up, staring at Arthur's wounds, slowly bringing my trembling hands up to my mouth as the hairs on my neck stood up, but before I had time to do anything else, I tripped on something behind me. I fell to the floor, my hands catching me and holding my upper body up, my feet placed on the object that had tripped me. It was a body. A bloody, unrecognizable body.

My eyes widened at the sight and I let out a screamed, attempting to back up farther, but bumping into something else behind me. I turned and glanced at it. Yet another body, soaked in blood. I screamed again, shaking uncontrollably, and bringing my hands in front of my face. My body went cold. Red beads of blood rolled down my hands and arms, some dried to my skin. A shriek of shock escaped my throat.

"No! No, no, no! I wouldn't! It wasn't me!" I backed up rapidly, not caring where I ended up, soon curling myself into the fetal position, my head on my knees and tears streaming down my face as sweat rolled down my back, "I would never! I would never! How could I? It wasn't me!"

I felt a hand on my head, and I looked up to find Arthur, struggling his way closer to me.

My vision wasn't there, I couldn't see anything, but I noticed what I was doing. I noticed. I could hear Arthur's voice, I could hear him suffocating, choking, trying to say my name as he used his only available hand to try and pry what seemed to be my fingers from his neck.

I began to be able to see here and there, as if I was blinking almost nonstop. It was true, I _was_ trying to suffocate Arthur, but how could I be? It wasn't me! I tried forcing myself to release my grip around his neck, and as I did so it felt as though I was using all my strength, as if I was trying to force open something that was sealed tightly shut. Slowly, with my hand shaking incredibly fast, I was able to force myself to let go.

The entire time I tried to remove my hand I repeated the same words, crying, "Not Iggy! I won't kill Iggy!"

When I finally released him, I let go so fast Arthur flew to the ground, hitting his head on the floor. I threw myself to the side, wailing, sweating and trembling, crying as I yelled, "I can't kill Iggy! Not Iggy! I won't kill Iggy! How could I? He's my brother!"

I reached for the edge of the table above me, pulling myself up to my feet, still shaking like crazy. When I was finally standing, I let go of the table, placing my hands on my head and throwing my face to the sky, screaming. I stumbled around the room for a while, I couldn't say how long, but eventually I lost sight of everything, and felt myself crash to the floor, everything blacking out.

* * *

**Dont you just love my cliff hangers? Ok, but seriously, I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK OF THIS! :D Is the story good so far? Is there anything my writing could use to help it? Critique me please! (Please no negative criticism, it just makes me angry. Positive criticism is always welcome though.)**

**Anyways, yes this was from Alfred's point of view and there's empty spaces in his memories right now, though you will know what happened later. So don't think I forgot! He'll remember everything later on. JUST WAIT. It gets worse though, so don't like the way this is going? Better run now 'cause it's going to get bloody. (It will go back to a 3rd person narration next chapter)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Unbeta'd... Sorry... D:**

* * *

The room began coming into focus slowly, and shapes beginning to become clear as Arthur gradually opened his eyes. He took a look around the room, noticing multiple people around him yelling orders to each other as well as many others around the room. Moving his head slowly to the side, he watched as people rushed Alfred, who was on a stretcher, to the door. Arthur slowly stretched out his arm towards the sight, struggling to keep his hand up as his arm shook from a lack of energy.

"Al…fred…" the name was muffled as Arthur slipped back into unconsciousness.

Alfred struggled to open his eyes, blinking multiple times as he adjusted to the light. He didn't know where he was, and he didn't really care. His body was soar, his brain felt like mush, his ears rang, his head throbbed, and everything just felt plain old awful. What had happened last night? Or was it last night? It could have been days, really.

"Alfred! Bloody hell!" The strong British accent caught Alfred's attention and he jerked his head to the sound, watching as Arthur wheeled up to his bed, "Thank God." Arthur said, getting as close to the bed as he could and reaching for Alfred's hand, unable to hug him, "You're awake. Thank God. Thank God…" Tears began to flow down Arthur's face causing Alfred's eyes to widen.

It all began to come back to Alfred now, what he did to Arthur, how he broke his limbs, how he had tried to kill him. Why was he so happy he was awake? He tried to kill him! Alfred jerked his hand away from Arthur and quickly back up against the bed frame behind him, shaking as tears swelled up in his eyes.

"I-Iggy…" Alfred sniffed, "I-I-I d-did that!" He pointed to the cast on Arthur's arm and leg, "I'm s-sorry! I'm _so_ sorry!" Alfred buried his face in his hands, but Arthur pulled one away, gripping it tightly.

"It's not your fault."

Alfred looked out at him, his seeable eye widening, "What do you mean it's not my fault? I _know_ I did it!"

"Alfred, it wasn't your fault. I'm not blaming you."

"But why not?" Alfred screamed, jerking his hand away from Arthur yet again and placing it on his forehead.

"Because I _know_ you." Arthur watched Alfred with stern eyes, "You wouldn't do something like that, ever. Please lay down, you don't need to stress yourself out as soon as you wake up."

Alfred followed his request, slowly sinking back under the blankets and peering at him with curious eyes.

"Arthur…" Alfred said slowly, "I'm sorry… I didn't mean… I didn't know what I was-"

"I know." Arthur interrupted, taking hold of Alfred's hand again. "I knew it wasn't you, there was no way that was the Alfred I know. You wernt there, it wasn't your fault."

Alfred brought his hands up to his face, bringing Arthur's hand along with his, setting them right above his lips, beginning to cry softly.

"I didn't tell you when I started remembering. It _is_ my fault! If I just would have _told_ you none of this would have happened!" By this time he had begun to sob fully, "I was right behind you! I _could _have told you, but I didn't!"

"Why?"

"The voices started again… They… It told me that I shouldn't, that you'd hate me for it. I don't know why I listened! I don't know! I knew you wouldn't hate me but I listened anyways!"

"Alfred…" Arthur didn't know what to say, he only could watch as the younger nation cried, but then said the only words that kept coming to his mind, "I'm here for you, Alfred. I'm always here for you."

The days passed again, and Alfred had flown back to America, able to rest in his own house again. He was scared to be alone, but also thankful. Now knowing it was him who could hurt people, he didn't want to be with anyone, but the fear that would engulf him when he was alone was to much for him to handle and he would have to force himself to sleep.

_The Prime Minister stumbled in front of a dark figure, a dark figure who shape was now to well known to Alfred, his own, and the Prime Minister was only just out of his reach. It was as if the Prime Minister was frightened, trying to get away from Alfred, running as fast as he could, but tripping and being caught up by him again. Blood ran down the Prime Ministers face and clothes, trails following him from behind._

_A knife was drug into the Prime Ministers skin. Blood flew up onto Alfred's face._

_A gun shot. Intense pain coursed through Alfred's entire body._

_Everything turns black._

_Snickering…_

Alfred awoke in a cold sweat, throwing his body up into a sitting position. He knew he was probably the one who murdered them. He _knew_, but he didn't want to admit it, though now he had to. The memories came back in floods, detailed, as if he was doing it all over again,

Regret and sorrow swarmed him. Regret for organizing the meeting, regret for ever have gone to it, regret for murdering, he regretted all of it. Fear mixed in with his emotions yet again and the thought of things that he might do caused him to tremble. The fear wrapped him tightly and he was defenseless to it. No matter how hard he tried, he was unable to sleep, unable to do anything but shake with terror in the midnight dark of his room.

After a while, Alfred had calmed down enough to leave his room and creep down stairs to his kitchen. He rummaged through his refrigerator for a few minutes trying to find something to eat, but every time he thought he found something, the small made him sick. As time passed Alfred eventually gave up and took a seat in a kitchen chair, staring up at the ceiling. He was hungry, but he couldn't eat, he was tired but he couldn't sleep.

Eventually, the only thing he thought of to sooth his boredom was playing video games, so he made his way to the living room where he kept everything and dug trough a pile of game cases. Alfred tried multiple games, some, mostly the M rated ones, made him shutter and glance behind him, memories coming back again. Seeing blood at the moment, any type of blood for that matter, probably wasn't the best idea. Deciding it was for the better, he threw all his M rated fame aside, including some of the T games.

Seeing the greatly decreased pile of games, Alfred sighed. He really should stock up on less violent games for situations like these. Digging through the piles of games again he pulled out a few, eventually deciding to play his copy of Kingdom Hearts II. The combination of Japanese animation and Disney was almost like the best thing ever.

Time passed more quickly now that Alfred was entertained, but by morning he hadn't slept and felt horrible, though sleeping was still impossible. Three days had passed and he was completely deprived of sleep, food and energy. The worst part of it was that there was a world meeting that he had to lead in just a few hours now, and he was very unprepared. Alfred's sleep deprived mind left him thoughtless, unable to think of things other than his fears and worries, but he had to come up with something.

He made his way to his kitchen, attempting to drink some coffee, yet his taste buds rejected it. Sitting himself down in a kitchen chair, he slumped down and pushed the mug away, sliding it across the table. He groaned.

"Why now..?" Alfred mumbled as he slammed his head on the table, arms sprawled out in front of him.

He sighed, very annoyed at his situation. Going might cause him more issues, but not going would tell other countries that he was vulnerable, or sick, and that wouldn't end well.

In the end he would have to go, so he quickly got a few topics and plans together and ran to get ready. When Alfred reached the meeting building, he tried acting as normal as possible, trying to hid his fear and tiredness. He walked into the room expecting Arthur to be there already, since the guy was usually early anyways, but no one was there and the room was dead silent like winter.

Alfred set up his notes while he waited, other countries roaming in one by one. In no time the room was filled with nations, all talking among themselves. Everyone was there, or at least, all most everyone. Arthur was still missing.

Alfred put on a grin and stood in front of the room, placing his hands on his hips, "All right! Listen up!" he yelled, attempting to laugh.

Everyone quieted down to listen to him.

"So! We have multiple world wise issues at the moment, and I think the best one to talk about would be the oil situation." Alfred looked around the room, knowing most the Middle Eastern countries didn't join these meetings, even Egypt wasn't there today, "We need to find a new way of finding and distributing it." He continued, "I say we should use French Fry grease!"

A giant roar went around the room. Comments like "Oh God! Not this again!" or "What a stupid idea!" and even "Why are you such a retard?" could be heard clearly.

"Hey!" Alfred yelled, his voice trailing off and the shout becoming muffled as everyone shut up to look at him, "It's a good idea! Admit… it…" His voice continued to fade out and slowly focusing harder on not falling asleep rather than what he was saying, Alfred felt his head dip into sleep, quickly jerking awake, "Either… thah… or we…" He shook his head again, "can go… Back to the! Ozone… Discussion…"

"America," Ludwig spoke up, "You seem distracted. Is anything wrong?"

"Huh?" Alfred looked up at him, eyebrow raised, "Oh no! Uh!" He put on a fake smile and tried laughing, "No! Nothings wrong! I'm just… a little tired!"

"That's a bit obvious." someone, sounded like Lavino, mocked.

"How about you take a break, mon ami?" Francis replied, smiling.

"What?" Alfred shouted, "I don't need a break! I'm perfectly fine!"

Right as Alfred finished speaking the meeting room door opened, Arthur rolling through the door in a wheel chair, everyone staring at him.

"Bloody hell!" Arthur shouted, glaring evilly at the countries who were looking at him, "Stare at me would you? Not like I don't feel awkward enough in a wheel chair _and_ coming late!"

"What happened to you, England?"

"I've never seen you in so many casts!"

"Who did that to you?"

Alfred watched as they bombarded Arthur with questions about his wounds, his expression going from forced happieness to stoic. They asked who? He did it. What happened? How did he _let _it happen? Each question he heard he had the answer to, but how could he tell them? How?

"W-well!" Arthur stuttered, half smiling as he tired to come up with a believable lie. He wouldn't tell them the truth, for Alfred's sake. "I-I was drunk one night. So it's really all my stupid blundering!"

"You cant hold your liquor, mon ami!" Francis laughed, "I knew you would do something stupid like this someday if you kept going on those drinking sprees!"

"Shut up, you frog!" Arthur screamed, "You have no right to say anything, you wine loving tool!"

Francis only continued to laugh, annoying Arthur and eventually they broke out into one of their usual arguments. As the room rose into commotion, normally commotion Alfred would be a part of, he stayed out of it, trying to find some way to wake himself up. Finally fed up with the noise, Ludwig raised his voice. Alfred didn't notice what he said, all he realized was that the room was silent and people were walking back to their seats.

"America, you may continue." Ludwig nodded as the last person took their seat.

"Oh… Right." Alfred nodded back, turning to face to group. "Well," He quickly shook his head, "We can't… keep depending on the middle…" he dozed, jolting his head up a second later, "East… For all our… oil…" he began slurring his words, "Comin' up with a… New! Source… is the… be...st… w…e…"

Alfred at first seemed to be looking at the notes in front of him, but as soon as his words slurred and died out it was obvious that wasn't the case. Teetering back and forth few times, within seconds he fell forward, hitting his face on the edge of the table.

"Ow! God!" Alfred yelled, covering his nose with his hand as he jumped back up. Blood slowly dripped through his fingers and on to this clothes and the floor, some of the other countries grimacing at the sight. Feliciano quickly scurried over and offered him a box of tissues, which Alfred accepted without much thought. As he took a few with his clean hand and covered his nose again, he glanced at the bloody hand he held out in front of him.

_Kneeling down, Alfred began slowly standing up, his hand held out in front of him. He took a long look at it, grinning and giggling as beads of blood rolled down his arm in streams of red and brown, shimmering like glass. Alfred's grin grew wider as he looked down at the man beneath him. His jaw was broken in, blood spilled from his mouth, his eyes starred forward in horror, but his breath had only left him seconds ago._

Alfred's eyes widened in terror as he gasped for air, quickly wrapping is hand around the tissues Feliciano had place in his palm. Another memory. Why another? He didn't want this, not right now.

The meeting paused for a few minutes as Feliciano helped Alfred clean himself(and the floor) up. While the rest of the nations waited, they talked amongst themselves, some getting up and walking around. Francis, being on who didn't want to sit and wait, walked over to Arthur.

"Don't you dare say anything about my condition, you frog." Arthur glowered when he saw Francis.

"Who said I was going to say anything?" Francis chuckled, "Cependant tu es dans un forme ridicule*."

"What was that?" Arthur growled.

"Noting, mon ami!" Francis laughed, "Though," his expression became more serious, "I did wish to ask you, since you are the closest person to him, do you happen to know what's wrong with Amerique?"

"Closest..?" Arthur mumbled, a little confused as to why Francis would say that, "No. I don't. Now go away."

"Oh, but Angleterre, don't lie. I know you know whats up. You've been around him to much recently to not."

"What? Just because I've been around him doesn't mean-"

"Mon ami…" Francis put his hand on Arthur shoulder, "Something's wrong with him, and you don't know? You _raised_ him and when something goes wrong you're always the first to be there for him. You can't honestly sit there and tell me you don't know what it is."

Arthur stared dumbfounded at him. It was true, he was always the first to be there, even if he acted like he hated the kid. This time again, he was, but he couldn't tell Francis why he didn't know, why he was lying or why Alfred was acting the way he was. Francis didn't need to know.

"You know, don't you Angleterre?"

Arthur sighed, knowing Francis wouldn't stop bothering him till he told, "Fine. I do know, but its for Alfred and himself to deal with, not for you to drag yourself into. He wouldn't want you to know anyway."

Francis only nodded sympathetically as he began walking away then turned back around to looked Arthur in the eyes, "Arthur, vieil ami*… If he or you ever need any help, don't hesitate to ask."

Finally, Alfred and Feliciano returned to the room, Alfred ready to begin speaking again, or at least he thought he was ready. He stood up in the front of the room, wiping the hair from his face as he began to speak.

He cleared his throat, "Um… Well, I guess getting back on track, we cant depend on others for all our oil. It would… probably… be a good idea to find a source in our own land. Which is why I suggested french fry grease!"

Arthur face palmed at this.

"It exists everywhere! So why not?"

"Alfred…" Arthur began, "That has to be the stupidest idea I've ever heard."

Alfred quickly turned and stretched his arm out towards him, pointing, "Well! At least I'm coming up with-!"

_An arm was stretched out, gun in his hand and pointed at Arthur's head, a finger on the trigger, ready to fire. The men around the room starred in horror, unmoving, holding their breath._

"_A-Alfred… W-what are you doing?" Arthur stuttered, his face full of shock._

_Alfred laughed, slowly beginning to pull the trigger._

Alfred gasped, quickly pulling his arm back close to his chest, "Something…" he finished.

Arthur cocked his head, his eye squinted in confusion. What just happened to him? Was he remembering?

Alfred turned his head away and continued, "If someone want to try to ome p with a better option…" Alfred shook his head, noticing he was falling asleep again, "Be my… guest…" His head dipped and his body moved forward just enough for him to tip over. Quickly grabbing hold of the back of the chair in front of him he tried pulling himself back up, but his eyes were fixated on the sight of his hand grabbing the seat.

_His hand reached out to grab the chair beside him, quickly raising it above his head Without a second thought Alfred threw the chair down on the man in front of him, his grip tightening as he lifted the chair up again. The same routine over and over again. The same man, the same chair, only different blood flying up onto his face._

Widening his eyes, Alfred jerked his arm back yet again, this time also sweating and breathing heavily.

"Alfred?" Arthur asked, concern in his tone. When he didn't respond Arthur spoke louder, "Alfred!" Still no response, "_Alfred_!"

"_**WHAT**_**?**" Alfred screamed, jerking his head to look at Arthur. As soon as his eyes laid sight of Arthur's wounds, his hand raced to cover his mouth, shaking and backing up slowly. Within seconds he doubled over, gabbing his stomach with his other hand and began vomiting uncontrollably.

"Alfred! Bloody hell!" Arthur screamed, trying to make his way over to him, Francis and Mathew reaching Alfred, who had fallen to the floor, in moments.

Alfred continued to vomit as both men tried to find out what was wrong, Mathew placing his hand lightly on Alfred's back.

"_**Don't touch me!**_"Alfred shrieked, whipping his hand around and hitting Mathew in the face, causing him to fly back a few inches. He jumped up off the floor and ran for the door, not taking one look at the other nations around him, not opening his eyes to see where he was going, and tears trailing in the air behind him.

* * *

**Well, this is the unbeta'd version as I said. My beta didnt have time, but it will be updated sometime soon beta'd. :D Well, comments? Ideas? Your thoughts? Reveiws please! ;D**

**Translation notes:**

**Cependant tu es dans un forme ridicule - Though you are in ridiculous shape**


	6. Chapter 6

**Unbeta'd, will be updated later.**

* * *

The nations scurried around the room, some jumping from their seats, others stunned in their chairs. When the door slammed shut after Alfred ran out, Arthur quickly motioned to Francis, who was helping Mathew back up, hoping he would understand that he needed to follow Alfred but couldn't in his condition. As soon as Francis notice, he pulled Mathew to his feet and rushed over to Arthur, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair.

"You want to follow him, oui?" Francis asked.

"Right." Arthur responded, turning his torso around enough to see the other countries, "This meeting is finished. You may all leave."

An uproar was heard as Francis closed the door behind them beginning to run down the hall in search of Alfred. There were multiple doors, some open, some closed, making it difficult to find him. How far could he have possibly run in only a few minutes?

Alfred backed up once again against the back wall of an empty room trembling and scared out of his mind. Sweat rolled down his back as chills crawled up his spine, and the hairs on his neck stood up. He breathed heavily, the fear suffocating him.

'_Fun.'_

'_Wasn't it?'_

The words died out as the clicking of the door opening invaded Alfred's hearing, he glanced up, catching sight of Arthur and Francis.

"Alfred!" Arthur cried, beginning to make his way over to him.

Inching farther against the wall, Alfred covered his mouth yet again, soon doubling over and vomiting just as he had done before. Every time he saw Arthur, every time he saw his casts, every time he saw what _he _did, he became sick, unbearably sick. By now there was nothing left in his stomach to vomit up, there was nothing there in the first place. He hadn't eaten in two days and it took its toll on him now, allowing him to only puke up his own stomach fluid, burning his throat.

Francis rushed over to his side as Alfred fell to is knees, placing a hand on his back as he tried to calm him down. After his vomiting had stopped he began to sob violently, rears flooding from his eyes.

'_Admit it.'_

'_It was fun!'_

'_Hurting them.'_

Alfred wailed, the voice antagonizing him, making him fell worse then he already felt, making him hate himself. Throwing his head in his hands he tried gripping his skull, trying anything to get the voice to go away.

'_Hehe…. You want to do it again,'_

'_Don't you?'_

"Shut up!" Alfred yelled, scaring both Arthur and Francis. They didn't know who he was yelling at, there was no one else in the room besides them.

"Alfred," Arthur said sternly, "Alfred, look at me!"

Slowly, and trembling, Alfred moved his head slightly sideways trying to look at him, but as soon as he saw a glimpse of the casts around Arthur's arm and leg the sickness came back wore than before. Quickly diverting his eyes, he threw his hands to the floor as he began vomiting once more, his throat feeling as though it was on fire.

"Amerique! Calm down!" Frances yelled trying to help him back up.

'_Wasn't hurting Arthur fun?'_

'_Hehhehheh, it was! Wasn't it?'_

"No! It wasn't!" Alfred cried, the tears he was still crying stinging his eyes, "Why won't you shut up?"

"Alfred, there's no one else here!" Arthur said, "Its only me and Francis!"

Alfred reached for his skull again, shaking his head furiously as Francis reached for one of his hands, yanking it away from his head and holding it firmly away from him. He wailed, unable to stop shaking or hearing voices.

"Amerique, there is no one here! No one will hurt you, there is no one here!"

"Alfred!" Arthur yelled, "I said look at me!"

"No!" Alfred screamed.

"Look at me, damn it!"

"No Iggy! Don't make me! I can't!"

The tears began falling faster and his wailing louder. How could he look at him? How?

Arthur couldn't get Alfred to look at him, he wouldn't. He wanted Alfred to realize that nothing he did that night was his doing, that his wounds weren't his fault, that he didn't hate him, that he didn't blame him, that he still loved him, but he couldn't get him to look. Maybe if Alfred just looked, he could see that, and maybe by seeing that he could get over it, but it was a hope that would probably never happen. Alfred was to scared to look, he didn't want to start vomiting again, he didn't want to see what he had done.

"Amerique, there's no one here. The voices are just in your head. You don't need to be scared."

Francis repeated words like these over and over again in the next few minutes, successfully calming Alfred down to a whimper. He set his hands in his lap, Francis gradually releasing the one he was holding. Things stayed silent for a moment, only the whimpers of Alfred interrupting the silence. Alfred looked at his hands, his head down towards the ground, soon his whimpering turning into soft breathing.

"Now, are you okay?"

Alfred slowly turned to look at Francis, his eyes dark and tired. A soft smiled crossed his face.

"Oh good."

"Francis move!" Arthur yelled, "That's not-!"

Before he could finish his sentence Alfred lifted up his arm and elbowed Francis in the stomach, sending him flying across the room. His back hit the wall with crushing force, blood flying from his mouth. Raising himself from the ground with a grin, Alfred began slowly walking towards Francis, Arthur grabbing his wrist as quickly as he could.

Alfred turned to look at Arthur, glaring fiercely, the look in his eyes causing chills to crawl up Arthur's back. Still holding on tightly to his wrist Arthur shifted uneasily in the wheelchair, knowing Alfred, or who ever this was using Alfred, was going to try something to hurt him again.

"Where's Alfred?" Arthur asked shakily.

With his guess being right, Alfred quickly turned and took the upper hand by shifting his wrist just enough to grab hold of Arthur's wrist instead. He then lifted his leg and placed his foot down hard on Arthur's left knee, Arthur clenching his teeth and wincing from the pain it brought to his broken leg. Alfred moved in closer, now being face to face with Arthur, still glaring demonically.

"Why," He began, his voice dark and raspy, speaking quietly, "do you always ruin my fun?"

He jerk Arthur up from his wheelchair, holding his arm up above his head and halfway removed from the chair. Squinting his eyes even more, Alfred got ready to throw Arthur across the room, just as he had done to Francis, but this time Arthur had two broken bones making it an seemingly even greater pleasure for him. Just as he began to pull his and Arthur's arms back, a great pain jolted through his head as he himself let go of Arthur and flew across the room, landing unconscious on the floor.

Arthur fell to the ground beside his wheelchair, his left leg twisted backwards and wrist in shocking pain, unable to move due to his broken limbs. He watched Alfred from the corner of his eye, trying to lift himself up with his right arm, the only limb that was useful at the moment if it wasn't for his wrist. Looking up he found Francis standing above him, a chair held tightly in his hands above his shoulder. He had hit Alfred with it.

Alfred groaned as he began to lift himself off of the floor, reaching for the back of his head. As soon as he felt the sticky, red liquid on his hands and in his hair, he jerked his hand back to his eyes, shaking furiously yet again. His whimpering started up again, and soon tears formed in his eyes as he looked up and saw Francis with the chair in his hands and Arthur on the floor.

The whimpers turned to sobs and the sobs turned to screams as Alfred backed his way quickly up agains't the back wall, trembling in fear of what he had done. Francis watch Alfred for a moment, looking away in pity to help Arthur back into his chair. Alfred continued to scream, his face buried in his arms that were holding his knees together, tears rushing down his face faster then ever before, and soon Arthur found himself in front of him.

"Alfred, look at me." Arthur repeated himself, "Look at me, Alfred. I need you to look at me."

Slowly but surly, Alfred looked up from his arms, still crying, but just as before, as soon as he laid eyes on Arthur's casts he doubled over, throwing himself to the side and vomited uncontrollably. The tears wouldn't stop as he puked, and neither would the screaming. When he could control himself he lifted himself back up and placed his head against the wall, closing his eyes tight as to not see Arthur.

"Alfred, look at me!" Arthur yelled, "Just look at me! Cover your mouth and vomit, but I need you to bloody look at me, damn it!"

Alfred followed his orders and covered his mouth, crying and screaming at the same time, and opened his eyes. He tried to stop himself, he really did, but he couldn't keep himself from vomiting. Trying his hardest to look at Arthur, he kept his eyes fixed on him, vomiting all over himself, into his hand, onto his clothes and even down his neck, but he kept his eyes on Arthur.

For a while Arthur didn't do anything but let Alfred puke all over himself and cry. Though, after a while Arthur said the one thing he had been repeating over and over in his head.

"I still love you, Al."

With those words Alfred lost it completely, he let himself go and screamed at the top of his lungs, tears streaming down his face. He covered his face with his hands, not caring that they we're covered in his vomit. He wailed for the longest time, no one able to calm him down. An hour passed and eventually Alfred quieted down, falling over to the side, his head on the floor as his whimpered.

"How long," Arthur asked softly, "has it been since you last slept, Alfred?"

Alfred sniffed, "Th-three… days… I-I Th-think…"

"Was it the voices?"

"I-I'm just… so s-scared… I-I keep… h-having nightmares…"

"And what about food? How long has it been since you ate?"

"Same…"

"Why? It's not like you to not eat…"

"I-I don't know… The smell… I-it makes me s-sick…"

"Come, Alfred. We need to get you home." Arthur motioned for Francis, who had been standing in the back the whole time, watching on, not wanting to interrupt.

Once they reached Alfred's house, Francis helped Alfred change out of his dirty clothes and placed him in bed, not allowing him to move until he agreed to try to fall asleep. Alfred looked around his room fearfully, darting his eyes from one place to another. Arthur grabbed his hand hoping to calm him down.

"Alfred, just rest. You need it." Arthur said turning to leave the room.

"Sleep well, mon ami." Francis smiled reaching for the door.

Alfred began to close his eyes, the light of the hallway shinning into the room, Francis held the door open for Arthur, knowing he would have a hard time opening it himself, but just as he reached it Alfred cried out, his arm stretched out and shaking. His hand was spread as if he was trying to grab hold of something.

"Wait! Iggy!" Alfred screamed, tears swelling up in his eyes once more, "Don't leave! Don't leave me alone! Please! I don't want to be alone! I'm scared! Please don't leave! Don't-! Iggy!"

Alfred felt the strong grasp of the older mans hand around his, "I won't leave, Al. I'll be right here for you. I'm not leaving, I promise."

He returned the grip stronger then he planed. He was scared and didn't want to be alone, holding on to Arthur's hand was the best comfort he had and he wouldn't let go. A few minutes passed and eventually Alfred loosened his grip around Arthur's hand, soon falling into a peaceful sleep, but he still held on, not letting go.

Uneasy sleep fell upon Alfred, his sweat rolling down his face and neck at time during the night, Arthur claming him once again. In the morning when Alfred awoke he sat up in his bed and took a look around, still uneasy about the night before. He caught sigh of Arthur sleeping in his wheelchair, still dressed in the suit he wore to the world meeting.

He had probably been up all night making sure Alfred was fine and had just gotten to sleep. Realize this for once, Alfred stood and lifted Arthur up in his arm, making sure not to move his left limbs to much. He left the wheelchair in the room, walking out and carrying him to the guest bedroom. Before he lowered him to the bed Alfred removed the blankets enough to place Arthur under them. After he made sure Arthur seemed comfortable, he went and got the wheelchair, placing it right beside the bed, close enough so that hopefully Arthur could possible drag himself into it when he woke up.

Alfred made his way down stairs, the small of freshly cooking food crawling up his nose. It didn't make him sick this time, or at least not yet, sleeping seemed to help his sickness. He noticed Francis darting around his kitchen pulling out different ingredients here and there and pouring them into whatever it was he was cooking. With out much thought on the matter Alfred plopped down on his couch and grabbed the TV remote, flipping threw the channels.

A plate passed in front of his face, "Here." Francis said, holding the plate out to him, "You should at least _try _to eat."

Alfred stared at him, not expecting him to be so concerned. "Uh… Sure." He took the plate out of his hands and lifted up the fork.

"It's an authentic French omelet, so you better like it." Francis laughed, "Cooked by France himself at that!"

Alfred gave an uneasy smile, cutting off part of the food and putting it in his mouth.

"Oh!" Alfred's eyes lit up as he finished swallowing, letting out a burst of laughed a moment later, "That's awesome!"

"Oh ho ho! That it is!" Francis grinned as he watched Alfred laugh. Even though he didn't understand the whole situation, after yesterday it was great to see the kid laughing again.

Alfred set the fork down lightly on the plate and brought it to his lap, not laughing an longer. Without moving his head, he looked at Francis from the corner of his eyes.

"Francis…" He asked, his voice brought down to a low whisper, "what did I do yesterday that made you hit me..?"

Francis gently set his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, "I don't know all the details... I blacked out for a few seconds."

"Then I hurt you too?" Alfred gasped, tears forming at the edge of his eyes.

"Oui…" Francis tried looking at Alfred, but the expression the his face was so unlike the normally cheerful one he usually carried that it was almost impossible to look at him, "Maybe Angelterre should tell you…"

Alfred gave a light nod in response, "By the way," he turned to look at him, "Why are you still here?"

"Oh ho!" Francis laughed, "You see, in the condition both you and Angelterre are in I didn't see it right to leave you two. Especially Angelterre!" Francis shook his head dramatically, "He cant even dress himself, let alone shower!"

"I can dress myself just fine, frog!" Arthur's voice rang from the top of the staircase. He had somehow managed to drag himself into his wheelchair and sat at the top of the stairs.

"Ah! Angelterre!" Francis replied excitedly, "I'm guessing that also means you can get down the stairs by yourself, too?"

"Yes. Not like I need a bloody Frenchman to help me!"

Francis had gotten up and now stood at the edge of the staircase, his face surprised from the response he had gotten. If Arthur _did_ attempt to get down, he probably would put himself in a worse condition. He needed help getting up them the night before!

"Uh… Non!" Francis yelled, more concerned now about Arthur really attempting it, "Don't even attempt that Angelterre!"

"And why the bloody hell not?"

"You could-!"

At that moment Alfred jumped off the couch and ran over to his stairs, accidentally pushing Francis over. Arthur watched as Alfred came up the stairs beside him.

"Alfred?"

Without saying a word Alfred lifted him up out of the wheelchair and into his arms as Arthur let out a shriek of fear. He clung to Alfred for dear life, scared he would fall and be unable to help himself. Heights scared him more than anything at the moment and being an extra four feet from the ground didn't help.

"Alfred!" Arthur screamed, closing his eyes as Alfred started down the stairs, he could hear him beginning to laugh, "Alfred put me down right this instant! Don't you dare drop me-!"

Just as Arthur finished what he was saying, Alfred let him go for only a split second, enough time to freak him out and to give him the feeling of falling. Alfred laughed louder as Arthur screamed and panicked from being "dropped", clinging to him even tighter than before.

"Bloody hell! What the fuck was that for? Did I just not say do not bloody drop me, you bloody git?"

All Alfred could do was laugh hysterically, it had to have been the funniest thing he had seen in a long while. Arthur clinging to him as he tried not to fall down the stairs, it was quite funny, but at the same time cute.

"Put me down!" Arthur continued to yell as Alfred walked down the stairs, "Put me down _right _now, Alfred! _**Now**_! I don't want you bloody carrying me, git! Put me down this instant, damn it!"

"Hold on, Iggy! Hold on!" Alfred said giggling and grinning as Arthur tried to hit him in the head, "If I put you down now you'll land on the stairs!"

Alfred hurried down the stairs, laughing as Arthur's attempts to hit him failed. When he reached the bottom he stopped dead in his tracks, his head down.

"Alfred?" Arthur asked concerned, not trying to hit him any longer. He didn't get a reply, so he asked again, "Alfred, are you alright?"

A few seconds later Alfred threw his head up and grinned, laughing again.

Arthur clenched his teeth, "You bloody twit! I thought something was wrong, damn it! Why do you feel the need to do that? Scare the shit out of me! You know how bad it would have been if that was real? Why the bloody hell are you even joking about that?"

As Arthur yelled, Alfred brought him over to the living room and gently set him on the couch. When he Arthur sighed, glaring up at the teenager in front of him as Alfred looked down, a hand rubbing the back of his head.

"Do _not _do that." Arthur said sternly, "_Ever_. _Again_."

"Ok, ok." Alfred replied, giggling a bit, "Sorry. I just felt the need to try and make myself laugh about it."

"Fine, but don't you _dare_ drop me like that again!" "I didn't drop you!"

"Oh? That so why the bloody hell was I falling then?"

"You weren't falling! I made sure to be able to catch you!" Alfred smiled.

"Fine. Doesn't matter to me." Arthur looked away, trying to find Francis. _'Where the bloody hell did that wanker go?' _He thought to himself.

* * *

**Haha! Epic brotherly love scene. (Nothing more then cute scenes like that will be here) Anyways, sorry about the long wait for an update. My computer crashed last week and I was unable to use the files on the PC for a while, but I was soon able to get back on and start working on things again. Your ideas about this so far? How do you like the storyline? Is the writing okay? Im asking to many questions arnt I? Ok then, just review please! ;D I'd appreciate it.**


	7. Chapter 7

Francis had gone missing and no matter where Alfred searched he couldn't find him, so he had obviously gone out of the house. Though where in all of New York City was a mystery to both Alfred and Arthur, that city had _to _many places to look. Maybe he was out trying to pick up a few American girls?

They didn't think much more on the situation, knowing he would have to come back eventually to grab the things he left. Arthur at first spent his day flipping through the TV channels, criticizing some of the American shows he came across, then eventually getting fed up of having to sit on a couch all day, but there went many other options. Alfred on the other hand tan around his house more then usual, calling people about the meeting yesterday, helping out Arthur with things he needed, or wanted, and doing other things like cleaning to jeep his mind off the situation he was in. He hoped that if he didn't think about the memories they wouldn't try coming back an the voices wouldn't start up.

"Alfred," Arthur called, tilting his head back against the couch attempting to look over it, "is there anything to do here rather then just watch bloody cable?"

Alfred peeked his head out from the kitchen door, "Uh… I have video games?" Arthur grunted, "Or… Well… comic books?"

"Is that seriously all you do in your life? Sit and watch television and play video games while you stuff yourself with junk food?"

"I play sports to!"

"Ah! Well at least you do something productive! But this conversation is getting me no where. Are you _sure_ there's nothing else?"

"Well, there is always the option of going out in the city. There's a lot to do in New York."

"You expect me to go out like this?" Arthur pointed to himself, unshowered and still wearing his suit from the meeting.

Alfred walked into the room, "There's always the option of getting ready, dur?"

"Pft." Arthur grunted, "With what clothes?"

"Um… Mine..?"

"I don't think your clothes would fit me, Alfred."

"The what would you suggest, if you don't want to sit here so badly?" Alfred complained, getting annoyed at him.

"I don't know. Not sit here."

"Then what?"

Arthur jumped in surprised, not expecting Alfred to yell, "Alfred… Are you okay?"

"Why?"

"You seem edgy…"

Alfred looked at his feet, "A little… I'm trying to keep my mind off things, but…"

Arthur stared at him for a while, the room silent.

"Well then!" He chirped up, "Help me get ready! We're going out." Arthur reached his hand out towards him, Alfred shifting his eyes back and forth in confusion.

"Really?"

"Yeah! Just help me get dressed because without two of my limbs working its almost impossible to do myself."

"But didn't you tell Francis..?"

"Yes, but he's a bloody wanker. I'm not letting him touch me."

"And I can?"

"I trust you to not do anything inappropriate more then him. Though, it will still be awkward."

"Oh…"

"So are you going to help me or not?"

"Uh… Right!" Alfred laughed heading over to Arthur.

He lifted him up in his arms again, Arthur still uneasy about being picked up by Alfred, who "dropped" him last time. He headed up the stairs as Arthur shouted things like "Don't you dare drop me this time or I'll bloody kill you!" and all he could do was laugh at the Brits threatening.

When they got into the city, Alfred pushed Arthur around, going to one place after the next, just messing around and being silly. Arthur would yell at him sometimes, but when he remembered that it kept Alfred's mind off things he smiled, loving to see Alfred's cheerful, innocent face again. He would run down streets, talk with random people, his people, and just be himself, which was good to see after the thing that had happened.

It was baseball season too, so Alfred decided he'd go steal a seat for part of the Yankee game, telling Arthur he should check out some real American baseball. Being the personification of America, Alfred was allowed in any and all VIP boxes whenever he wanted, even if they belonged to someone else. He could never decide which team to cheer for, since they all did belong to him. They stayed for only one inning, but that was okay with Alfred, even though he did want to stay longer.

Back in the city Alfred insisted on getting something to eat, finally willing to stuff himself again after three and a half days of starving himself. After they ordered their food, of which was obviously McDonalds, Alfred stopped by Central Park, letting them eat there. Alfred had been here multiple times, but Arthur on the other hand had probably only been there once or twice, maybe not even at all. He figured Arthur would enjoy the scenery.

By this time Alfred had completely forgotten about the memories and voices, enjoying himself as they ran around new York city. He didn't think about the memories, he didn't think about what he did, he didn't think about the voices, he didn't think about the day before. His mind was free of all stress, and it was enjoyable.

As they walked around the city Alfred was as care fee as he could be, even though that usually was normal for him, but it was a rare occurrence lately. They were now just walking around, taking no notice to where they were at, just walking and walking.

Suddenly Alfred stopped dead in his tracks, Arthur attempting to look up at him.

"Alfred? Are you okay? Why did you stop?" the Brit asked as he watched Alfred stare at the scene beside him. He started trembling, and Arthur turned to look at what he saw.

The blond looked up in surprise, "Ground Zero?" Arthur asked, "You've passed here a million time, I thought you had mostly gotten over that."

Alfred didn't answer, he just stood there in the middle of the sidewalk staring at the sight. Yes, it was Ground Zero, the place where the World Trade Center, the Twin Towers, once stood, and he _had_ seen this place thousands of times, but this time something was different.

'_Remember this?'_

'_I'm sure you remember it well.'_

'_September 11__th__, 2001!'_

'_Such an __**amazing **__day!'_

Alfred clenched his teeth, "It wasn't _'amazing'_."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's back…" He didn't move his eyes and they were dark, Arthur knew something was wrong, something had happened.

"What's back? The memories of nine eleven?"

'_They killed so many Americans!'_

'_It __**was**__ beautiful!' The voice snickered._

Alfred stood, stoic, staring at Ground Zero. Why were these voices saying nine-eleven was beautiful? How the hell was it beautiful? It was the least bit 'beautiful'. His people died, his people suffered, so many of his people died! It was a terrorist attack, how is _that_ beautiful?

'_Oh, come on now.'_

'_You know you think the same.'_

'_It. Was. __**Beautiful**__.'_

'_Seeing your own people die!'_

"Shut up!" Alfred yelled, startling Arthur.

"Alfred?" He asked, "Don't tell me that the voices are back." Alfred gulped and slowly nodded to respond, "Shit. Ok, you need to get out of here. Walk away, alright? Do not just stand there, Alfred!"

'_Heh… You know something?'_

Alfred couldn't move, he was frozen, these voices beckoning him to stay and listen, stay and let them torment him. For some reason he just couldn't pull himself away, it was as if his brain wasn't sending the messages to his body to move, but his conscious told him to run, and at the same time his mind felt as though it was being over run by a personality that was not his own.

'_Only people who hate America would do something so amazing as nine-eleven.'_

'_Only countries who __**hate**__ America.'_

'_**Hate.**__'_

'_**You.**__'_

Sweat began to roll down Alfred's face as his shaking got stronger, causing him to loss strength in his legs and he fell to the ground.

"Bloody!" Arthur screamed, turning around the best he could to look at Alfred who was on his knees staring up at Ground Zero, "Alfred! Get a hold of yourself! Get up! Get up, damn it! Don't let this get worse!"

Alfred couldn't move. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't move. All he could do was sit and listen to the voice that spoke to him in his head, somehow always managing to make him believe whatever it said.

'_And you know who __**hates**__ America?'_

'_Do you know how many countries __**hate**__ America?'_

'_Everyone.'_

'_**Everyone **__**hates **__America.'_

Tears burst from Alfred eyes as he began balling on the side of the road. How did this voice in his head make him believe _everything_ it said? He didn't want to believe it, but his mind for some reason did, and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, the feeling of utter loneliness never left him.

'_Everyone hates __**you.**__'_

His balling turned to wailing and Arthur couldn't do anything about it. He didn't know why he was crying, he couldn't hear what the voice was saying, and he certainly couldn't move to try and help him in the least.

"Hey!" Arthur tried getting the attention of a few people around him, even though most of them were ignoring them, being used to people bursting out in tears around that area, "Someone! Hey!" No one made an effort to listen, "Bloody! Alfred!" He turned back around to look as best he could at Alfred, "Come on! Get yourself together and move! You can't just sit there! Move, damn it!"

He didn't listen, he couldn't listen, the only thing Alfred could hear where the voices in his head, everything else was drowned out. Crying was the only option he had, his heart felt heavy, his body wouldn't stop shaking, his head ached, his stomach turned and as he cried he remember that day. He remember nine-eleven as if it was happening over once more. The screams of people dieing by jumping out the windows, being burned alive, the buildings collapsing on top of them. The horror of it over whelmed him, and then… Something else.

_A man grabbed hold on Alfred's arm, pulling it back and trying to keep him from moving. Alfred flicked his arm to the right, sending the man flying to the floor, hitting his head. The men in the room gasped, some trying to help him, others attacking Alfred, though the gun in his hand shot all of them. Some died on impact, others only had flesh wounds and blood flew up onto Alfred's face every shot he made, causing him to laugh. _

Alfred's wailing got louder, and a familiar voices yelled out to him.

"Amerique!" Francis ran over at full speed, smelling of liquor and buttoning his pants.

Arthur stared at the older French men running up to them, rolling his eyes as he noticed he was fixing his pants, "Francis! Help Alfred! I can't do shit like this!"

"Got it!" Francis yelled back, coming to a quick stop next to Alfred, bending down to place a hand on his back.

_Alfred felt a hand on his head, and he looked up to find Arthur, struggling his way closer to him. As soon as he saw him, Alfred reached out in a flash and grabbed hold of Arthur's neck with all his strength, not intending on letting go._

"_Die." Alfred whispered, his eyes dark with hate, squinted and evil._

"_A-Alf-fr-r-ed!" Arthur stuttered, his words jumbled under the grip around his throat._

_Without one thought on the matter, Alfred lifted Arthur from the ground, holding him above his head and making sure he couldn't move. Arthur tried to use his only available hand to try and pry Alfred's finger's from his neck, trying to stop him from suffocating him._

Right as Francis touched him, Alfred turned around and hit him in the face, jumping to his feet and stumbling away from them. His eyes starred at them in horror as tears streamed down his face, never seeming to end, and his body shook uncontrollably.

"Amerique!" Francis yelled rubbing his face, "Calm down! Just calm down and we can go home! There's no reason to be so scared, Amerique!"

Alfred bit his lip, the tears still pouring down his face. He couldn't take being here anymore. He couldn't stand being with Francis or Arthur right now, he was so scared they hated him, and so he took off down the side walk, running at full speed, tears flying from his eyes. What if they we're only pretending to care? What if they didn't care at all? What if they we're just using his fear for their own gain? What if..?

The farther and farther Alfred ran, the more the fear of being hated gripped him. Yes, he knew he had always been hated by a few countries such as Russia or Saudi Arabia, but now he couldn't shake the fear of being hated by everyone. Everyone… How could they all hate him?

'_They all hate America.'_

'_They all hate __**you**__.'_

'_You. Just. __**You**__.'_

"No!" Alfred yelled, throwing his hands over his ears, people on the sidewalks staring at him, wondering why he just yelled and why he was crying. He ran, not caring where he was going, he just ran at full speed, trying to find some place to hide from the world. The world that hated him. Didn't they? Why should he show his face to people who hated him? But then what about his own people? Did they hate him as well?

A memory of an abandon building, not to far off from where he was at, came back to him. He could hid there. No one would find him, and he could be alone hiding from a world that despised him. When he found the building he threw the old doors open, a plume of dust bursting out around him causing Alfred to cough as he ran into the building and up the stairs. If he was going to be here, he was going to be on the highest floor, knowing if someone did come to look for him the first floor would be the first place to be looked around. When he reached the top floor, six stories above the ground, he looked around, still crying.

He ran into a corner of the room, not bothering to sweep away the cobwebs and dust from around the area, and threw himself to the floor, bringing his knees up close to his chest and shutting his eyes closed tight, continuing to tremble.

'_How could you even begin to believe that these people loved you?'_

'_Itsn't it obvious they hate you?'_

'_Always fighting with you.'_

'_Always saying they hate you.'_

'_If I remember correctly, didn't Kiku Honda attack you?'_

'_Hehhehheh… He did! Didn't he? Pearl Harbor?'_

'_And then that Francis Bonnefoy.'_

'_He only pretends to like you to fuck your women.'_

'_And then there's your __**dear**__ brother, Arthur Kirkland.'_

'_He hates you __**most**__ of all.'_

'_Disowning you like he did back in the revolution.'_

'_He __**still**__ hates you.'_

'_How could he ever love you?'_

'_Your obnoxious, stupid, a glutton, self-centered, loud, annoying, and rude. Besides, didn't you turn on him? Didn't __**you**__ start that war?'_

'_How many people can love someone like that?'_

'_**No one.**__'_

Alfred screamed at the top of his lungs, screaming louder and louder and louder as waterfalls caved from his eyes and streamed down his face. It was as if his screams never ended, as if they couldn't stop, as if screaming was the only thing he knew how to do, and at the moment, it was. He only knew how to scream, there was nothing logical going through his head, no thoughts on what the voice was saying, no thoughts on how to react, no thoughts on ignoring it, no thoughts on saying it was a lie, he could only believe the words and scream. Nothing but screaming, over and over and over again. His throat hurt and he tasted blood, but even so, the thought of stopping didn't hit him. It was all he could do. Scream and scream and scream. Over and over and over…

Arthur and Francis in the mean time searched everywhere for Alfred, asking any one who they thought might have seen him, Francis flirting with most of them as well. A few people said they had seen him and they began to be lead in the right direction, eventually, after long hours of searching, ended up outside the abandon building. The sun had fallen below the horizon hours ago and the moon shown off the windows of the skyscrapers, creating enough light for them to see outside, but inside the building was dark and they stumbled around, searching for anything to give them light. The few broken windows allowed some light to shine in, but even with that there wasn't much.

Alfred, on the top floor, woke up and coughed up the blood that had accumulated in his throat, the words the voices spoke to him rushing back to him. He used the wall to help pull himself up off the floor, whimpering as the ideas of everyone hating him hit him again, and he stumbled around once he reached his feet, his hand covering his eyes.

"Alfred?"

Alfred spun around, jolting upright when he saw Arthur and Francis standing by the stairs. He backed up, starting to tremble once more, holding his arms out as if trying to say 'stay away'. His feet slowly slid across the floor as he inched farther and farther away from the two older men, Francis beginning to walk forward and saying anything to calm Alfred down again.

"Amerique, lets go home! There's no reason to be hiding here. Lets just go."

"Don't come any closer!" Alfred screamed back, backing up even quicker now.

"Alfred!" Arthur yelled, "Listen to him! There's no reason for this! Let's just go home, okay?"

Not paying any attention to them, Alfred continued to back up, shaking and sweating from fear, "No! No, no, no! Leave me alo-!"

Before he could finish yelling, Alfred's foot lost it placement on the floor, slipping and causing him to fall out one of the broken windows. His eyes widened as he realized what had happened, beginning to scream as he fell from the sixth floor to the ground beneath.

"Oh, merde!" Francis shouted, running to the broken window.

"Alfred!" Arthur screamed almost jumping out of his wheelchair.

Francis didn't know what to do but watch as Alfred fell. Thank God there was something to somewhat slow his fall. Alfred hit his back on a tree branch which in return threw him forward causing him to land on his hands and knees. He hit the ground with full force, coughing as saliva ran down his chin. Quickly, Francis rushed down to the first floor, making his way outside to Alfred. Again, Francis touched him, trying to help him up. By now you would think Francis would have learned that something goes wrong every time he tries to help him up, but he hadn't realized this yet.

_Alfred jumped off a table, landing right above Arthur and slowly beginning to walk to his side. The other men in the room gazed on in horror, unable to move from shock. When Alfred was at just the right spot, he kicked Arthur in the stomach with all his strength, sending him flying across to the other side of the room. Arthur hit the wall, hard, falling flat on his face as he reached the floor, shakily trying to make his way into a sitting position, but failing and falling back down again, coughing. _

When Alfred came back to his senses, pulling himself from the memory, he jumped up, and tried to ran away only to fail and fall on his face from a pain that shot up his leg. He quickly turned around to look at his ankle, grabbing it as he realized it was twisted. Shooting his eyes up to look back horrified at Francis, Alfred continued to tremble, scurrying himself backwards on the ground. Francis reached his hand out to try and help Alfred up, but instead Alfred jumped to his feet, stumbling around trying to keep his foot out of to much pain, and punched Francis as hard as he could in the face, sending him flying back.

"Don't touch me! Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me!" Alfred screamed over and over again, beginning to breathe faster and faster and faster, soon becoming light headed, everything beginning to blur and the world starting to go dark around him as he fell to the ground once more.

* * *

**Yeah so Im lossing track of when I upload chapters. This is unbeta'd again... I think my beta just gave up. Anyways, I have almost the whole thing writen out already, but Im losing inspiration to finish the last few chapters... (Probably gonna be about 16 or 17, Im at 13 right now) So, if we get to 13 and I don't update for a while... Its cuz I didnt have motivation to write the rest. :'D**


	8. Chapter 8

A room began coming into focus before Alfred's eyes. He blinked multiple times, trying to remove any blurring spots from his vision and tried to sit up only to have a sharp pain race up his spine. Reaching for his lower back, he cringed as he dropped back down onto the bed beneath him. How did he get here anyways? He didn't remember falling asleep in his room. What _was_ the last thing he did? Oh… He fell off a building, no wonder his back hurt.

Alfred attempted to sit up again, trying to ignore that pain in his back as he removed the blankets from his body and swung his feet over the bed side. A quick and sharp pain jumped through his foot as it hit the bed frame, causing him to flinch and pull his foot away quickly. It was then that he remembered that he had twisted it when he fell, and then the memories of what the voices had said also came back and he started trembling. He glanced around the room fearfully and noticed his cell phone sitting on the nightstand next to his bed which he reached for, trying not to move to much as to not have more pain then necessary.

When he finally got a hold of it, he turned it on and waited for the time and date to appear, and soon saw it was two in the afternoon a week from when he had been awake last. He let himself drop on the bed, holding the phone close to his chest as he continued to shake. Why had he been asleep for so long again? Was it the fact that he was so scared? Or was it because he was stressed beyond his capacity? What ever it was, he was scared and didn't feel good.

Just then the door opened, startling Alfred and making him jump. His eyes shifted towards the door to find Mathew standing just inside his room, the door wide open.

"Oh, Alfred! Your up!" Mathew said cheerfully, making his way over to Alfred's bedside, "Do you need anything?"

"No. Why are you here?"

"Arthur called me to come watch you. He had to leave back to England. Francis is gone too." Alfred didn't respond, "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"No?"

"Yeah, now leave me alone."

"Your not hungry? That's not like you…"

"I'm not hungry so just go away!" Alfred yelled, shocking Mathew, "Leave!" Mathew hesitated to move, not understanding why Alfred had gotten angry with him, "_Now!_"

"Uh, ok! Ok! I'm leaving." Mathew stumbled as he walked backwards towards the door, "If you need anything, I'm downstairs."

"Leave my room, Mathew!" Alfred screamed, scaring Mathew even farther as he quickly scurried out of the room and close the door behind him.

As soon as Alfred heard Mathew run down the stairs, he dropped his guard, tears bursting from his eyes as he moaned. Why couldn't he stop crying lately? All he could ever do was cry! He cried and cried, the memories of what the voice said haunting him. So many people hated him!

'_Hehe, you right.'_

'_They all hate you.'_

'_But you know something?'_

'_Arthur hates you more then everyone.'_

'_He hates you __**so**__ much.'_

Alfred gasped for air, the voice's word suffocating him as the tears became heavier.

'_Did you know?'_

'_He hates that he found you.'_

'_He hates that he had to take care of you.'_

'_You we're just a burden to him'_

'_He could have done so much more without you ever having existed.'_

Alfred forced his screams down, not wanting to draw attention to himself from Mathew. Sweat began rolling down his face and neck getting his shirt wet.

'_And now?'_

'_Now you make him sick.'_

'_Being such an idiotic country.'_

'_He __**hates**__ you.'_

'_Can't you see it?'_

'_He has __**always**__ hated you.'_

'_He had no hesitation about disowning you after the revolution.'_

'_He was the one who burnt down your capital.'_

'_Was he not?'_

Alfred let out a muffled scream, yelling into his pillow, the tears running down his face making everything damp.

'_He's just __**using **__you.'_

'_He __**loathes **__you.'_

'_**Detests**__ you, __**despises**__ you.'_

'_He wants you __**dead**__.'_

With that Alfred bit his lip as hard as he could, jumping out of the bed and running towards his closet. He limped around his room, crying and muttering to himself about the things the voice had said, believing every word of it full heartedly. He dug through every corner of his closet, throwing out anything that had to do with Arthur, things such as gifts all just thrown into a pile. He ripped the pictures and letters up as soon as he found them, throwing the remains around the room. When he finished going threw his closet he ran, or limped, around the rest of his room, grabbing pictures and letters that were stuffed in drawers, things that hung on that walls, everything that was anything dealing with Arthur, making a racket and catching Mathew's attention from down stairs.

He smashed the gifts to pieces, stomping on them every chance he got, and then the laptop that sat on his desk caught his attention. Limping over to it, Alfred turned it on, quickly beginning to go through all the files stored on it to find anything that might have had the slightest bit to do with Arthur. He cried and cried, the tears never stopping, covering the laptop with water. Almost every file he found was related to Arthur in some way, IM's, funny webcam photos he might have taken on skype just to piss Arthur off, voice chat meetings, word documents of plans with him, history files dealing with the wars between them and more. Alfred couldn't take it, there was no way he could delete all of those files without breaking down completely, and just as he thought that he crashed, giving into the demands of his angry and fear.

Without a second thought Alfred threw his laptop to the ground with all his strength, a loud bang heard down stairs as the computer hit the ground, shattering into pieces. Mathew jumped from the noise and ran over the stairs wondering what Alfred was doing to make such a racket, only to find Alfred rushing out his room and down the stairs, his face red with anger and tears pouring from his eyes. Not taking any notice to Mathew, Alfred accidentally pushed him out of the way, throwing him to the floor. He ran around the corner and down the hall, quickly opening a door that lead into an old, dark room full of many different objects. A storage room it seemed.

He rummaged threw it, again finding anything to do with Arthur. Mathew watched, shocked, as Alfred threw all these objects into a pile on his floor, an old suit, musket and toy set included he noticed. As soon as everything was out Alfred ran out of the room to the pile of objects on the floor beginning to smash them with his foot by stopping on them or kicking them.

"Damn it!" Alfred screamed, his crying making his voice crack and shake, "God damn it! God damn this fucking shit! Fuck! _Fuck it all_!"

Everything was in pieces now, the gun broken in half, the suit shredded from the other items that had been placed on top of it. The only thing left was the toy set, and Alfred noticed it. He quickly reached down and picked it up, holding it up above his head with an arm shaking from horror and anger.

"_**FUCK!**_" He screamed at the top of his lungs, catapulting the toy set across the room, almost hitting Mathew as it flew, and then watched it shatter as it hit the kitchen wall. The toy soldiers were broken in pieces, scattered across the floor and the case in which the had been held in was broken off its hinges.

Alfred stared at the wall for a moment and then suddenly fell to the floor, bursting out in tears even more so then before, wailing as loud as he could. How could he have believed Arthur loved him all this time?

"Alfred..?" Mathew asked shyly, his head peaking out from the stair case, hopping not to accidentally be aimed at again.

As soon as Alfred heard Mathew's voice he jerked his head up, the tears halting and his screams silenced. Scrambling to his feet, stumbling back and forth for a few seconds trying to gain his balance, he kept his head down, soon turning to look at the kitchen counter that wasn't to far ahead of him.

Knives. There was a knife set on the counter. Alfred stumbled forward, falling forward just as he reached the counter, both hands keeping him propped up. Mathew watched, concerned, not sure why Alfred was having such a hard time.

"If you want help, I'm right here Alfred."

When Alfred found his grounding, he pulled himself upright and grabbed the butcher knife from the knife set. Mathew jumped, surprised at his actions.

"Alfred? What's that for?"

The only response Mathew got was giggling, and then Alfred spun around holding the knife in his hand next to his face, starting at it from the corner of his eye longingly.

"I wonder how good my aim is!" Alfred laughed, grinning.

"W-what?" Mathew stuttered, a glimpse of the knife flying forward to his face, quickly throwing himself to the floor in attempts to dodge.

Alfred huffed, "Apparently my aim is worse then I thought!" He laughed a second later.

"What the heck Alfred?" Mathew screamed, standing back up and trembling in fear. He turned to run as soon as he saw the grin that cross Alfred's face. It looked evil and sadistic, not like Alfred at all!

As soon as Mathew took off, Alfred ran after him, grabbing his neck and squeezing it as hard as he could, which meant Mathew could pass out any second.

"A-Alfred! S-stop!" Mathew coughed, looking around for anything that could possibly allow him to remove Alfred's hands from his neck.

A picture the hung on the wall next to the stairs caught his attention and he reached for it, slamming it down hard against Alfred's skull. Within seconds Alfred had let go and stumbled a few inches back, Mathew taking off through the house trying to get away. Alfred held his hand up to his head, attempting to get himself back together, and as soon as he could see straight again he looked up, trying to find where the knife landed. When he spotted it he walked up to it slowly, pulling it out of the wood of the couch it landed in.

"What's the point in runnin', Mattie?" Alfred giggled as he walked into the next room, "You're not getting away."

A mistake on Mathew part, he moved, catching Alfred's attention which in return showed him that he was hiding under the desk in Alfred's office room. Right as Alfred heard him he moved and attacked him swinging the knife in his face. Luckily, Mathew grabbed one of the book that was beside him and used it to block, cutting the book in half as Mathew ran out. Alfred continued to chase him, trying his hardest to 'kill' him, but Mathew somehow managed to escape every time.

Finally, Mathew got a head of Alfred, running down a back hall that seemed to be quite old. A door stood on the side of the hallway, about half way down. Mathew opened it, rushing in but not closing the door, he looked around. It was dark and there was no light bulb, it appeared to be an old cellar that had been there before the invention had been made. Candles hung from the walls and so right now there was no way of getting any light into the room, making it impossible for Mathew to even see what was in the room or be able to hide there. Instead he turned to look at the door handle. There was no lock on the inside. Could he lure Alfred into the room and keep him there for a while until he knew what to do? It was the best idea he had at the moment.

Alfred came walking down the hall, Mathew having gone missing, but he noticed the door to the room was wide open. Guessing that either Mathew had taken a look at the room and ran out or decided to hide there he stopped by the door, taking a look around. Without any notice, Alfred lunged forward, falling face first into the room, the door slamming shut behind him as he got back to his feet. Mathew had kicked him into the room and locked him in!

"Let me out, asshole!" Alfred shouted, banging on the door violently and shoving the knife threw it as far as it would go, not bothering to remove it.

On the other side Mathew quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Arthur, holding the door shut by leaning on it with full force as Alfred pounded on it.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up- Ah! Arthur?" Mathew gasped into the phone speaker.

"Mathew?" Arthur responded, a little worried, "What are you calling for? Did something happen?"

"Yes, you see, I have Alfred locked in a cellar in his house!" Mathew said quickly.

"What? Why?"

"He tried to kill me!"

"_What? _What happened, Mathew?"

"He was upset or something! I don't know! He was freaking out! And then all the sudden he took a butcher knife and started chasing me with it!"

"Bloody hell! And he's in a cellar right now?"

"Yeah. What should I do?"

"Don't let him out! Not unless you can talk to him and he's himself again."

"But what if he doesn't talk?"

"Then… Don't let him out. I don't know. Letting him out if you cant tell his personality is probably the worst thing you can do. One way to tell is if he seems like he doesn't know how he got there, alright?"

"So, just leave him here?"

"Yes. Though do check on him."

"Should I open the door when I do that?"

"No. No, don't open the door. He can be a menace when he's like this. If you do anything do it with the door closed."

"Ok. I got it. Oof!" Mathew jerked forward, Alfred still pounding on the door, "Are you going to come back?"

"Yes. I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't try anything till I get there! Understand?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Arthur hung up the phone, leaving Mathew to hold the door closed as Alfred continued to try and force his way out. Within time Alfred calmed down, or so it seemed, and the banging ceased, Mathew gradually lightening his force on the door. He turned and tried to speak to Alfred through the door.

"Alfred? Are you calm now? Alfred?" There was no response, "Alfred..? Are you okay?" Still no answer, "Arthur told me to keep you in here until I know you're yourself again, and I can't tell if you are or not if you don't talk to me…"

There was no response at all, everything was silent besides Mathews heavy breathing from using most of his strength up. On the inside of the door where Alfred was, he had found his way to the back corner of the room, the darkness engulfing him. He was himself again, and he trembled in horror, realizing that he must have done something horrible to end up in a place like this. The back wall was covered in shelves that held bottles of wine, wine from years ago, he hand't been in this room in a least a hundred years by now and totally forgot about it. As he propped himself back against the wall he began whimpering yet again, quiet enough to where Mathew couldn't hear beyond the door.

'_See?'_

'_They locked you in here.'_

'_Alone…'_

'_Why would someone who loves you do this to you?'_

'_They __**hate**__ you.'_

'_They all __**hate**__ you.'_

Alfred began to scream, not caring if Mathew could hear him or not, he screamed and screamed, not knowing what he should do. His heart was heavier then it had ever been before, it felt as though it would explode any minute, his head throbbed, his stomach turned making feel as though he would puke, his whole body was heavy and his the worst part of it all was that no matter how hard he tried to think of something else to make the pain go away it got worse. It became so bad Alfred just wanted to die, to topple over and die. Then he remembered the wine.

With trembling hands, he quickly reached up and searched around the shelves for one of the bottles, the clanging of glass and his moaning echoing through the room. He pulled one down off the shelf and opened it, not hesitating to chug the whole thing. Only able to finish half of it at once, Alfred removed the bottle from his lips, coughing uncontrollably as the wine from his mouth spilled out all over his face and clothes. After his coughing died down, he gulped down the rest of the wine, again only to caught half off it back up again once he finished.

He threw the bottle to the ground at full speed, ignoring it as the glass shattered across the floor. Sobs released themselves from Alfred's throat, his head started to get cloudy and the pain in his heart was somewhat numbing itself. Within minutes he could barely even think clearly, the voice in his head taking advantage of him.

'_Go ahead! Waist yourself!'_

'_All this pain will go away if you give in!'_

'_And what if it comes back?'_

'_What will you do __**then**__?'_

All of the sudden the pain came back even stronger then before, so strong Alfred doubled over on his hands and knees and vomited, the wine in which he had just drank making its way back up through his throat and onto the floor. He sat back up, scurrying through the shelves and pulling out yet another bottle of wine, drinking this one just as fast as the last, the wine spilling all over him. Alfred didn't even care now whether or not his clothes were ruined, or if his face was covered in wine, or if the floor of which he sat on had pools of alcohol and puke beneath him. Just as before, he threw the bottle to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

In no time at all, the alcohol got into his system making him even more drunk then before. His head throbbed, his eyes were red from both the drinking and the tears, he was now hiccupping from all the wine, his heart only felt slightly lighter and he just wanted to find some way out of the pain. Glancing around the room the shattered glass caught his attention. Glass. Sharp glass. A different pain. Maybe it would take the pain of his heart away.

With no hesitation Alfred lunged forward, grabbing a piece of the glass and looked at it, his hands still shaking out of control. Looking at the back of his right hand, he took the glass and cut into it, writing the word 'hero' in his flesh, blood beginning to roll down his arm. Alfred smiled uneasily at it, the pain was for sure distracting him, and for some reason it was a good pain, one that reassured him. Being a hero was one thing he was good at, and remembering that that's what he was made him a least a little bit happier.

'_You're a hero, huh?'_

'_How is a person a hero…'_

'_If their __**despised**__ by everyone?'_

_'If they've killed their own people?'_

_'Hurt their own brothers?'  
_

'_You're not a hero.'_

The words rang in Alfred's ears. _'You're not a hero… You're not a hero… You're not a hero… Everyone hates you… How is a person a hero if their despised by everyone..? By the world..? By their family?'_ Alfred gasped, clenching his teeth as tears streamed wildly down his face. The glass in his hand tore at his flesh as he dragged it across the back of his hand as fast as he could, blood covering both his hands and clothes. He continued to tear at his skin for minutes on end, never seeming to want to stop. This word he had written, he didn't want to see it any longer, and he made sure of that. As he tore his hand to shreds Alfred screamed and cried, the pain of his heart getting stronger and stronger every second. Why was nothing working?

Nothing he tried to do worked, and the bottles of wine piled up in shattered glass on the floor. As the blood ran down his arm, Alfred took more glass and cut at his wrist, watching the red streams of blood roll down his skin and fall to the floor. He slashed at himself over and over and over, just trying to get the pain to go away, his skin mutilated and torn apart, deep wounds placed all over his arm. Blood began to accumulate beneath him, soaking itself into his clothes and drying onto his face. When would the pain just go away?

* * *

**Okay, its official... I have lost inspiration to finish this from where Im at. (Much farther than this mind you) I'll try to finish it, but when you stop getting pretty regular updates... that means I havnt worked on it in a while. But! I will try to finish! Its to long not to. xD Maybe if I knew there were people who actually wanted me to finish I could... idk... lol**


	9. Chapter 9

_Knock! Knock!_ Mathew rushed to the door, pulling it open without even looking at who it was.

"Arthur!" Mathew yelled, almost tempted to jump on the older man, "Thank god!"

Arthur nodded, stepping into the house, "Mathew."

"Oh, you're out of your casts?"

"That I am. Where is Alfred? Is he still in the cellar?"

"Yeah…" Mathew took Arthur's coat, hanging it up, "I don't know what's going on with him. He hasn't said a word since he stopped banging on the door."

Arthur pondered over this for a moment, "I will try to do something, Mathew, he's probably a least a little better by now. But you said he wasn't talking?" Mathew nodded, "Great… Who knows what that means…"

Arthur looked around the room, his eyebrows raised when he noticed the toy soldiers he made for Alfred years ago in pieces on the floor. He slowly walked over to the rubble, bending down and picking up one of the toys, rubbing its at least in tacked face.

"He kept these..?" He thought out loud, Mathew turning his focus to him, "I didn't think…" Arthur shifted to look at Mathew, "What are these doing like this on the floor?"

"Alfred threw them."

"He did this?"

Mathew nodded then pointed to the pile of broken items on the hallway floor, "He did all of that too."

As soon as Arthur saw the pile of objects he got up and walked over to them, staring down with deep sorrow. All these things had something to do with him, but why? What had gotten into Alfred? He kneeled down and rummaged threw it, picking up each item and remembering all the things from his past that he had hidden away long ago. Mist fogged up his eyes as he searched through the pile, soon having enough of it and standing back up, whipping the tears away from him eyes.

"What else is there?"

Mathew looked at the floor, "There's pictures and letters torn up and scattered all around his room… All the pictures look like their only of you and him, and I'm pretty sure the letters are from you too."

"He kept those letters too..?" Arthur spoke out loud again.

"And his laptop is shattered too. I think he threw it on the floor a few times… It's pretty much ruined."

"God…" Arthur mumbled, cringing, "Take me to him."

Arthur started to make his way down the hall, stretching his arm out in a way to show Mathew he should lead instead, since Arthur didn't exactly know where this cellar was in Alfred's house. He had never heard of it. Before Mathew took the lead, he grabbed a box of matches, knowing that would be the only source of light. As they made their was to the room, Mathew gave more details of what had happened. How Alfred had yelled at him first thing, cried and screamed as he was destroying everything, and everything else.

When they reached the door to the cellar, Arthur stopped in front and sighed. He hoped to God that Alfred was okay. Arthur took his hand around the handle, unlocking it and pushing it open. What he saw inside was darkness, no light and the smell of liquor over powered him, making both him and Mathew cough uncontrollably. After their coughing fit, there was one thing in that dark room that caught their attention more then the smell. The sound. What the hell was that sound?

It sounded as if something somehow wet, but at the same time sturdy was being torn, movement of something threw the said material and the dripping of water. Or was it something else? It sounded to heavy to be water. The sound was grotesque and made both their stomachs turn, worry wrapping itself around them for Alfred. With that Arthur rushed in the room, Mathew following in after him, lighting the candles as he went.

As soon as there was enough light to just see the floor in front of himself, Arthur gasped. Blood and glass. Even from here, half way across the room, there was blood and glass all over. Arthur walked in farther, trying to keep his calm as the figure that was Alfred slowly came into focus, but how could he keep calm now that he had figured out what the noise was?

Blood dripped onto the floor at a constant pace, sometimes speeding up and slowing back down again, the pools beside Alfred getting larger every second. His clothes were _covered_ in the thick, red liquid, and his arm almost completely colored dark red. Wine bottles rolled across the floor, most of them smashed into bits of glass that had gone flying around the room, some of the shattered pieces with blood coating the tips, sometimes even the whole sliver. Alfred's face was covered in blood as well, dried blood, fresh blood, drying blood. Just blood. His blood. But the most horrific scene of all was Alfred's right arm.

There were cuts all over his arm, in almost every place Arthur looked his arm was cut, but the cuts didn't bother him as much as Alfred's fingers did. His fingers were digging themselves into and under his skin, tearing apart his flesh and the blood gushing out like a geyser, splattering itself across his body and the floor. Fingernails shredded through his muscle, lifting up flaps of skin as they dug deeper into his flesh. Glass shards found their way back into his hand and cut their way down into his arm so far that some places in the wound now had some visible bone. The glass, being broken in the first place, caught itself in his flesh, slivers embedding their self in his muscle.

"What the bloody hell are you doing Alfred!" Arthur screamed, grabbing Alfred's wrist with full force and pulling it away from him, "What's the meaning of this?"

"No!" Alfred shrieked, jerking his hand away and scrambling to his feet, "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" Alfred shook his head wildly, stumbling back and forth because of all the alcohol in his system, soon hitting his back on the wall behind him. His hands shook and his eyes were glazed over, his hiccupping proving exactly how drunk he was.

"Alfred! Get a hold of yourself!" Arthur yelled, rushing to grab hold of Alfred's wrist yet again.

"He's drunk, Arthur!" Matthew shouted.

"I can see that!" Arthur yelled back, continuing to try and grab Alfred's wrist.

Succeeding, he pulled Alfred from the wall only to have him retaliate by thrashing out at him, screaming in both pain and fear. Arthur attempted to calm him down, trying to keep him from moving to much by holding his arms in place, but Alfred's strength was to great for him and was almost thrown back to the ground. Alfred on the other hand took hold of one of the wine bottles that was on the shelf beside him, smashing it on Arthur's head as hard as he could manage. Arthur fell to the floor, wine dripping down his face and shoulders, and when he got himself back together enough he licked his lips, tasting the old wine and noticing how rich in alcohol it really was.

"I told you! Don't touch me! Leave me alone, damn it! Alone!" Alfred began sobbing, tremors going up and down his body rapidly, causing his wounds to itch.

Arthur watched as Alfred began scratching at his flesh, his nails ripping across his bloody open wounds and causing Arthur to cringe as the blood splattered across the floor once more.

"Alfred, stop it!" He screamed, jumping to his feet once more to run at Alfred, tackling him and holding him up against the wall, keeping him from hurting himself farther, "Matthew!" He managed to say, his voice muffled by his face being buried in Alfred's blood filled shirt, "Go find something to sedate him! He can't stay awake like this!"

Matthew grunted a 'yes' and ran out of the room, leaving Arthur to struggle with Alfred on his own, and made his way to the kitchen, rummaging through any and all drawers just trying to find something to sedate Alfred with. Within minutes Matthew found Alfred's medicine drawer, digging through it to find one that he may have used at a time when he couldn't sleep in his recent history. Finally Mathew came across one, a strong sleeping pill that would knock Alfred out for at least a few hours. He rushed back down to the room, running in a top speed and stopping just before he reached Arthur who was still struggling to keep Alfred from moving.

"Here!" Matthew yelled, holding the pill out, "I found this! It should knock him out if we can get him to swallow it!"

"Good!" Arthur mumbled, "I'll try to keep his mouth open! You shove it down his throat the best you can!"

With that they put his plan to work, Arthur doing the best he could to keep Alfred from biting down on Matthew fingers as he tried to get him to eat it. Eventually Matthew had forced the pill down as far as he could then letting Alfred try to cough it back up, but instead ending up swallowing it any ways. With in minutes after, Alfred fell into Arthur's arms, passed out drunk as the blood on his arm continued to trickle down and soak itself into Arthur's clothes. Without saying a word, Arthur brought the younger boy's head close to his chest, holding him tightly and placing his forehead on him, tears rolling down his face. Getting himself back together, he carried Alfred the best he could in his arms out of the room and down the hall, the blood trailing behind them. Laying him on the couch, Arthur sighed, staring at Alfred's arm and then up and down the hall.

"Mathew, do you think you could help me find antibiotics for his wounds and some bandages? We'll need to clean the floors too."

"Sure." Mathew responded, quickly running off to search through Alfred's medicine drawer.

Arthur double check Alfred's position, making sure he wasn't going to hurt himself, then walked into the kitchen with Mathew, searching under the sing for a strain remover of some sort. Once they both found what they were looking for Mathew rook care of Alfred's arm, rubbing the antibiotic where it would be useful and wiping the blood away. Arthur worked on getting the stains out of the carpet. When they finished Arthur pulled a chair up next to the couch to watch over Alfred. He was having such a hard time, and it seemed that if Arthur wasn't there things got worse. How could he have let it get this bad?

Mathew spent a lot of time in the kitchen, cooking away in order to feed himself and Arthur later, maybe even Alfred if he woke up. Arthur waited beside Alfred anxiously, stroking his forehead lightly just like he used to to calm him when he had been scared. Time passes slowly and when the food was ready Arthur left Alfred for just a few minutes, only to come back and sit next to him yet again. He stayed up to hours of the night, just waiting for Alfred to wake up.

Alfred slowly struggled to open his eyes, the lights in the room causing his head to throb. The only sound was Arthur's steady breathing as he noticed Alfred had awoken, moving his hand to cover his eyes, having enough experience with hangovers to know what Alfred must be feeling. As soon as Alfred saw Arthur beside him he jumped up off the couch, rushing to his feet and knocking Arthur to the floor. Almost automatically Alfred began shaking yet again, backing up quickly to the wall, ignoring the ache in his head.

"I-I know what y-your doing!" Alfred screamed, his back placed firmly against the wall as he pointed at Arthur, his voice shaking, "I know why you're doing this!"

Arthur lifted himself from the ground, "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Iggy!" Alfred's knees were shaking so badly it looked as though he would fall over any minute.

Arthur slowly made his was closed to him. "I have no idea what you are talking about Alfred."

The closer Arthur came the farther along the wall Alfred inched, "Stop it! I know you're just pretending to care about me! So stop! _Stop_!"

Right as Arthur hear that he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide with horror, "W-what?"

By not Alfred had made his way to the next wall, "You're pretending to cart! You don't give a shit about me! You h-h-hat-t-te m-me!"

Arthur stood dumbfounded as he watched Alfred cower and shake in the corner of the room. Did he really just say that? That he _hated _him?

"You _hate_ me!" Alfred cried, "You're just pretending to care about me! You're just using me! You disowned me! You disowned me! Ever since the Revolutionary War you've _hated_ me!"

Arthur gasped, how could Alfred this he disowned him?"Where the blood hell did you get that ideas, Alfred?" He screamed, his fists clenched, "I've never hated you! And I'm most certainly not using you!"

"Stop lying!" Alfred shrieked, "You don't care! You don't! I know you don't! Stop lying!"

Arthur lunged forward, his hands now wrapped rightly around the collar of Alfred's shirt, "No! You stop lying to yourself, Alfred! Why the bloody hell would I not care about you? You're my little brother! How could I possibly hate you?"

"You disowned me! You disowned me cause I rebelled and now you hate me for it! You only want to see me hurt!"

Arthur could see now why Alfred was in so much pain. He thought the world hated him, he thought his big brother hated him and just the thought of it made his stomach turn. How could he _ever _hate him? Now he knew why everything had been destroyed, and the tears Arthur had held back finally showed themselves, streaming down his face as he yelled.

"I don't hate you! I could _never_ hate you! I never disowned you either! Why would you think that? After all this time I have never thought of you as anything other then the closest family I have! How could I possibly _ever _hate my little brother? Why do you even think that?"

"I'm loud, obnoxious, annoying, rude, oblivious and a glutton!" Alfred cried, tears blurring his vision, "All things you _hate_! And you hate me for it so just stop lying, damn it!"

Arthur pushed Alfred up against the wall as hard as he could. "That's not a good enough reason! It will never be! What happened to being loud and obnoxious? Those traits are not here right now and I hate seeing you without them! They make you who you are and I love those things about you! Even though I say your annoying, I could _never_ hate you!"

Alfred screamed at this and jerked himself away, beginning to wail. "No! You hate me! You're just lying!"

"Alfred! Listen to me!" Arthur pinned him up against the wall again, "How can I hate the person who changed my life? How can I hate you? The boy I raised?"

Alfred's wailing stopped for just a minute as the words sunk in. He changed Arthur's life? By just being his little brother and letting him raise him? Once it clicked, Alfred's knees gave out on him finally causing him to fall to the floor, his wailing beginning to start up again. In a little shock, Arthur jumped back as he watched Alfred cry, wiping the tears from his own eyes.

"But all those people I killed!" Alfred wailed, his words muffled by the hands that were covering his face, "And I! I hurt you, Iggy!"

Arthur bent down and placed his hand on Alfred's head, comforting him just as he used to, "We've all killed, Alfred…" He said softly, "We're countries, not humans, and no matter what we do we will kill. The wars wont end… They won't and that's something as countries we have to accept. There will be no end to the lives we take." He paused for a second, looking down at the country crying below him, "Remember? Back in the Revolution, we both killed so many people, each others people. We both killed, and during your civil war, you were killing your own people left and right, and even asked me to help you. We've all killed, Al, and we've all hurt each other at some point, but we learn to forgive each other in time. There's no way to get around it, and this is no different. No matter how many times you hurt me, I will always forgive you. I will always love you. You're my little brother and don't you ever think I hate you. I could never hate you. I love you…"

His voice trailed off into silence as Alfred's cries became louder. They stayed like that for only a few minutes, Alfred soon tackling Arthur, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist and his face buried in Arthur's chest, continuing to sob. Arthur was at first surprised to find Alfred clinging so tightly to him, but soon just allowed him to cry on him, hugging him back tightly, the tears beginning to come back to his own eyes. Within time Alfred's crying died down and his breathing went back to normal, his eyes closed as he laid on the Brit, sleeping calmly. Making his way to the wall Arthur tried his best not to wake him as he found himself a better position to sit in. He stroked Alfred's forehead lightly as he watched the younger nation sleep, smiling softly. He hadn't seen Alfred this calm in months, it was so nice to see him like this. Soon enough, Arthur nodded off as well, joining Alfred in sleep.

* * *

**Sorry there are probably a lot of mistakes in the wording for this, I didnt have time to re-read it before I posted it. I'll fix it later. Im getting more inspiration to finish too! I just have to type up everything I have... (Why I didnt type it up I have no idea, seeing as how I have 10+ pages to type now...) Im still thinking of ways to end it, but that will come to me soon, I hope. But as for now, enjoy what I have. :)**


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning Arthur awoke to the smell of cooking waffled and the sound of vomiting. It was apparently the start of a wonderful morning! Noticing Alfred was no longer sleeping in his lap he figured that the one vomiting was Alfred, seeing as how he must have a pretty bad hangover from all the wine, and the one cooking must have been Mathew. Someone had also placed a blanket on top of him sometime during the night, which made him at least a little happier.

He made his way to the kitchen, hearing Alfred's obnoxious laugh, but this time the idea of it being obnoxious totally slipped Arthur's mind. This time he was glad glad to hear it.

"You need to bring more of it here for me!"

"You'd eat it all within minutes! Why waste effort on that?."

"Cause it's _**so**_ goooooooood!"

"What's good?" Arthur asked, coming around the corner and interrupting their conversation.

"Canadian maple syrup!" Alfred yelled, grinning wildly.

"Oh?" Arthur turned to look at Mathew, "You brought some with you?"

"Knowing how much Alfred likes his sweets, yes."

Arthur took a seat in one of the kitchen chairs. "Mind if I also had some?"

"Not at all!" Mathew said, passing a plate full of waffles to him.

"Thank you." Arthur nodded, then turning his gaze to Alfred, "How are you feeling? Does your arm hurt?"

Alfred looked up from his food, which he had been attempting to cut with one hand, "Um… Vomiting still? I reek of wine and blood though but Mattie wont let me shower."

Mathew turned around quickly, glaring at Alfred, "That's because if you did you'd have to undo all those bandages that I worked so hard to fix you up with and then it would most likely burn like crazy when the water touches your wound! Meaning it would be pointless!"

"He has a point, Alfred." Arthur agreed, "No use in removing the bandages if you cant even let water touch it." Alfred stuck his lip out as the conversation paused for a moment, "Do you remember doing that to yourself? You were drunk, so I don't imagine you would."

Alfred sighed, "Oddly enough I do… Which is weird 'cause I never remember things when I'm drunk. Then again I don't get drunk to often."

Just as Arthur opened his mouth to say something Alfred jumped, quickly covering his mouth. He shot out of his chair and dashed to his kitchen sink, Mathew scurrying out of the way by moving over to the counter beside him, staring at Alfred in disgust as Alfred threw his hands down on the sinks rim, jolting his left hand back up again when a sharp pain shot threw his arm. As soon as he stopped he emptied his stomach, vomit filling the sink.

"Aw! Gross!" Mathew yelled, looking away and shivering, "Why cant you do that in the bathroom?"

Alfred looked up at the faucet, wiping his mouth, "'Cause if I tired to make it there, that," He pointed into the sink, "would have ended up all over the floor." Alfred turned on the faucet water, watching the vomit wash down the drain, "How can you stand getting drunk all the time, Iggy? Once in a while, but _all the time_?"

"I-I don't get drunk a-all the time!" Arthur replied flustered.

Alfred blink back at him a few times, raising an eyebrow, "Dude…Seriously? " He looked over at Mathew, "I think we need to check Iggy for brain injuries, Mattie!" Alfred laughed.

Arthur looked away, his cheeks red with embarrassment. Of course he dank a lot, but he wasn't going to flat out admit it, that would be ungentlemanly. Alfred washed off his hand, doing the best he could not to get his bandages wet as he tried to wash the soap off. When he finished he turned back around, about the head back to his seat when he stopped yet again.

"I-I'll be back!" Alfred yelled, rushing out of the room.

It was dead silent for a few seconds until Mathew spoke up, "What was that about?"

"Probably needed to use the bathroom." Arthur said, beginning to eat his food.

"Oh…"

"Hey, Mathew?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could go out and get a few items? Alfred's missing quite a few things."

"Uh, sure. What do you want?"

Arthur held out a list that Mathew took from him.

"When did you write this?" Mathew asked, pondering over how he wrote it when he was by Alfred the whole time.

"Yesterday, when Alfred was asleep I decided to take a look around. He really should take care of his house better."

Mathew giggled, "That's Alfred for you!" He begun walking out of the room. "I guess I'll go get this stuff then. See you later?"

"Thank you, Mathew. I'll make sure Alfred stays fine. See you soon."

With that Arthur heard Mathew getting his things together then walk out the door, closing it softly behind him. Arthur continued to eat his food in silence, trying to think of the possibilities of what could be causing Alfred to act so differently.

'_It could be magic… Though I doubt anyone other than myself would try something like that. It seems more like someone is using him though, but who? And if not that…'_

Arthur's thoughts were cut off by the groaning of the other man that had just walked into the room. He knew it was Alfred, but the reason for his groaning could have varied from his hangover to something completely different. Turning around slowly, he glared at Alfred, his eyes showing what he was thinking: _'Shut up, you bloody git, you're interrupting my train of thought!'_. But as soon as his eyes glanced at Alfred's arm he jumped from his chair.

"Alfred! What the bloody hell are you doing?" Arthur yelled, running over to him and pulling his right hand away, "Don't touch your arm! You're going to make it worse!"

"But it itches, Iggy!" Alfred pleaded, trying to resist the urge to undo the bandages even farther, he had already removed them from his hand completely and blood had begun to roll down his fingers, "I can't help it!"

"Well then distract yourself!" Arthur said, taking hold of Alfred's bandaged arm. Letting go of the other, and beginning to wrap the cloth around again, "You can't scratch it because then it won't heal."

"Pft. Yeah, like that's not impossible." Alfred argued, still trying to resist the urge to scratch at his wounds, "How do you purpose I distract myself? Go jump in my pool?" Alfred glanced out the window into his backyard.

Alfred finished speaking just as Arthur completed fixing the bandages again and stood up, glaring with a force that could kill. Suddenly his expression turned to the complete opposite.

"Like this!" Arthur yelled, a huge grin replacing his scowl as he reached forward and tickled the sides of Alfred's stomach.

Alfred burst out in laughter, obviously ticklish, as he stumbled backwards a little ways. Eventually he was laughing so hard trying to shoo Arthur away that he feel to the floor. Arthur fell with him, continuing to tickle him as Alfred rolled across the floor, tears pricking the edges of his eyes.

"Stop, Iggy! Stop!" Alfred cried, unable to breathe.

He tried and tried to get Arthur to stop anyway he could, kicking him, trying to shove Arthur's hands away, rolling over and over, but Arthur continued to tickle him, even if he was being kicked so hard that he would have bruises all over his body afterwards. Arthur himself was laughing now as he watched Alfred try to stop him., the tears in his eyes from laughing so hard rolling down his cheeks.

"Hah! Iggy! S-stop! Dude! S-s-stop-p! Ahah!"

Alfred tried to speak in between his laughing but his words were short and he stuttered.

"What do you say?"

"Ahahahahaha! U-un-unnnn! Ahahaha!"

"What?" Arthur grinned, switching to tickle Alfred's feet, causing him to roll over on his stomach and kick his feet up and down.

"Ahh! N-not-t-t! Hahahaha! Th-the feeeeeet! Pffffttttt! Ahahahahahaha! Not the f-f-f-f-f-feeet! Hahahaha!"

The laughter made Alfred's face soar, his stomach now had a sharp pain in its side jabbing him whenever he moved and he was almost unable to breathe. Tears made their way down his face one by one as his laughing got stronger.

"What do you say?" Arthur asked, chuckling as he changed his position again to tickle Alfred's neck.

"Uncle! Unc-c-c-haha! Ahahah! Ucl-l-leeeee! Uncle! Ahahahaha! Stop! Stopppphahahaha!"

Alfred tried to squirm out away from Arthur, and was completely unsuccessful, "Iggggy! Ahahahaha! S-stop! P-please! Ahahaaha! Please! Please! Ahahaha! Iggy! Ahhahahaha! Uncle! Uncle! Ahahaha!"

Arthur quickly backed away and sat on his knees beside him, a wide, cheerful grin painted across his face.

'_I've never seen him so happy before…' _Alfred though as he sprawled out on the floor, breathing heavily from laughing and he stared up at the ceiling with closed eyes, _'At least, not in a long time. A __**really**__ long time.'_

Arthur wasn't paying any attention to Alfred now, his giggling had distracted him.

"Hey, Iggy!" The name caught his attention finally and he quickly looked back up, seeing Alfred on his knees as well as grinning, "Are _you _ticklish?"

Arthur's eyes widened as his smile dropped, "Don't you dare!" He yelled just as Alfred lunged forward and tickled his side causing Arthur to fall over sideways onto his shoulder, laughing uncontrollably.

"Hah! So you are ticklish!" Alfred yelled, grinning as he watched Arthur try to roll over and kick his feet.

"Haha! Alfred! S-stop!" Arthur gasped, tears forming in his eyes.

"What? I'm pretty sure that's not what you say!" Alfred laughed, moving to tickle right under Arthur's arms.

"Ahaha! Alfred!" Arthur laughed, curling up in a ball and grabbing Alfred's wrist trying to move his hand, "Hahahaha! Alfredddddd! Pfffftttttttt! S-stop! Ahahahahaha!"

"You're not saying the right word, Iggy!"

"Uncle! Uncle! Uncle! Hahahaha! S-stop! Ha! I s-said it! Hahahahaha!"

With that Alfred backed up and sat cross legged on the floor grinning at Arthur as he scrambled to sit up. One of his legs was stretched out and the other bent, his arm resting on it while he glared at Alfred, trying to regain his breath.

"Iggy." Alfred said seriously, putting his hands up as if he was going to tickle him again, "I challenge you to a tickling war."

Arthur's glare disappeared as he blinked a few times trying to process the words Alfred had just said. After a few seconds of silence he began giggling, soon cracking up and falling back over, his laughter growing. Alfred raised an eyebrow, completely confused as to why what he said was so funny. In the mean time Arthur was laughing so hard no sound was coming from his throat and he laid on his back gripping the side of his stomach, tears rolling down his face. Scooting over a little ways, Alfred watched him laugh hysterically, as if he was unable to stop.

"Why are you laughing?" Alfred asked, "What's so funny?"

"I don't know!" Arthur gasped, bursting out in laughter again, curling up and rolling over, both arms over his stomach.

With that Alfred joined in the laughing. It was one of _those_ laughs, where everything's funny for no reason, though he had never seen Arthur laugh so much. They laughed for a few minutes together until Arthur was finally able to compose himself again. Laying on his back and taking deep breathes, his arm placed over his eyes as he would giggle every once in a while.

"_Ahahahaha!" The laugh of a young boy of about four echoed through the room, "Hahaha! Artie! Stooooooopppppp! Hahahahaha!" The boy tried squirming out from under the large hands that were tickling his stomach, "Let me goooo! Ahahahahaha! Artie!"_

"_You're not going anywhere, Alfred!" Arthur chuckled, now tickling the young Alfred's feet._

"_Nooo! Ahahahahahaha! Arrrrrrtttttttiiieeeeee!"_

_The two were on Arthur's bed, Alfred laying down and being forcefully tickled by his big brother as Arthur sat on his knees beside him doing the tickling. The small boy rolled every which direction trying to escape Arthur's hands which were tickling him, so he attempted to roll off the bed, though Arthur, with good reflexes, successfully caught him and placed him back on, tickling him even more. Alfred couldn't stop laughing and he was running out of breath, tears pinching his eyes._

"_What do you say?" Arthur asked, his nose rubbing Alfred's. _

_Arthur lifted up Alfred's shirt and put his lips on his stomach, blowing out as hard as he could, causing Alfred to burst out in young, adorable laughter and curl his legs and torso up, trying to push Arthur's face away with his small hands._

"_Hahahaha! Un-c-c-c-c-cleee! Uuunnnncccllleee! Hahahahahahaaaa!" Arthur took another breath and blew out on Alfred's stomach again, "Hahahaha! Ahh! Haha! Uncle! U-un-uncle! Hahahaha!" _

_Smiling down at him, Arthur sat back up, letting the young, newly formed colony ketch his breath, his eyes closed as he rested. A few minutes later, Alfred slowly opened his bright blue eyes, grinning up at the man he considered his big brother._

"_Are we gonna play something else now?"_

_Arthur raised one of his bushy eyebrows, "Something else?" A smile found its way onto his face, "Not now, silly boy!" he laughed, throwing himself down on the bed and scooping Alfred up into his arms, making it so that Alfred felt like he was flying through the air above Arthur, who was now laying with his back placed against the bed._

_He set Alfred down beside him, letting his head rest on his outstretched arm. Alfred put his small arms around Arthur's huge bicep, clinging to him as if he was the only comfort he had, his smile brightening the room and the bright blue, innocent eyes that stared into Arthur's deep, forest green ones blinked with admiration for the older man. _

_Alfred clung to Arthur's arm,"So we're not playing anymore?"._

_Arthur smiled, rubbing Alfred's head, "No, you need to sleep." Alfred stuck out his lip, "Oh, don't give me that look, Alfred. It's time for bed. Understood?"_

"_Fine…" Alfred whined, but soon chirped up again, a cheerful grin across his face,"But can I sleep with you?"_

_Arthur blinked a few times, processing the question, then smiled softly at him, "Well… uh… sure, why not?"_

_With that Alfred buried himself under the blankets, only his eyes popping out above them, and waited for Arthur to get comfortable as well. Soon he snuggled in close to him, his head buried in Arthur's chest, Arthur putting and arm around him and lulling him to sleep._

Arthur removed his arm from his eyes, glancing over at Alfred who was sitting right next to him and grinning. He smiled at him, then made his way to his feet, sighed when he found his grounding and looked at Alfred again. Alfred noticed him moving and stared up at him, just knowing he was going to say something.

"W-well, nothing to fret over. I apparently needed a good laugh of some sort!" Arthur said, laughing uneasily.

Alfred stood up, "No, really? I couldn't tell! But seriously! I've never seen you laugh that much. Are you sure you're okay?" He noticed Arthur smiling at him, "What's up with that smile?"

"Oh?" Arthur's face lit up in surprise, "N-nothing! I just, uh, well, you know. Remembered something. So, how's your arm?"

Alfred glanced down at his arm which he held out in front of him, "Well, your distraction methods work!" He grinned, " I didn't even remember I had this!"

Arthur chuckled, "Then I did my job, and I'll do it again if I feel you need it!"

Alfred gasped and quickly spun around, diving to his couch and peaking his eyes up over the arm rest, "I will not allow it!"

Arthur burst out laughing, quickly regaining his composure, "Well then, I will leave you be for now." He smiled then walked into the kitchen.

"I hope he's not cooking..." Alfred mumbled to himself, slouching down on the couch and grabbing the TV remote.

When Arthur came back he held a tea cup in his hand, one he brought with him himself because it wasn't one Alfred would have had stored in his house. He stood beside the TV, half way watching the cartoon that played on the screen.

"What is this retarded crap?" He asked, his eye twitching.

Alfred looked up at him, "What do you mean retarded? It's Adventure Time."

"One of your stupid Cartoon Network shows? It looks stupid to me."

"Of course it would, you're Iggy."

"Please turn it off. The stupidity is burning my ears." Alfred stuck his lip out and hesitantly pressed the power button and the remote. "Alfred, you said you remember doing that to yourself?"

"Hem?" Alfred sat up, glancing at his arm again, "Oh, yeah."

"How?"

"I don't know... I think it might have been the fact that I was... Uh, you know, hurting so bad? I just wanted to find a way to make it all stop, and when the wine didn't work I started using physical pain to drown out the rest... I mean, I totally thought the world hated me. And when that voice said that... I believed it... And for some reason when it started saying y-you h-hated..." Alfred hesitated, stuttering over the word 'hated' for a while, his eyes becoming glassy and within seconds he threw his head down and covered his eyes, beginning to whimper. He wasn't going to cry, not this time, not again.

About a minute later, Alfred felt an arm placed around his shoulder, lightly pulling him to the side. He jerked his face up, his hands pulled from his eyes just enough to see who the arm belonged to. Arthur had taken a seat on the couch beside him, his eyes were relaxed and held a deep concern for the younger country as he pulled him closer. At first Alfred was hesitant, keeping his distance from the Brit, but soon he let himself fall, resting his head on Arthur's leg. He bit his lip and frowned, trying his best to hold back the tears that suffocated his eyes as he whimpered.

Arthur removed Alfred's glasses from his eyes, placing them on the end table beside him, then rubbed his forehead lightly, "You can cry, Al. You don't have to be strong, even hero's cry."

With that Alfred burst out in tears, "No they don't!" he buried his face in Arthur's leg and gripped tightly to the loose cloth of his pants, "They don't! Hero's don't cry!"

Why did he want to cry? Why? Hadn't he cried enough? Didn't he believe Arthur when he said he cared? That he wasn't using him? He wanted to believe, but in truth he couldn't. He didn't want to be lied to again, he didn't want to hurt.

* * *

**Mwahaha, more brotherly love, yes? I thought Iggy needed to laugh more and this seemed like the perfect time that he would do so, seeing as how he was already trying to cheer Alfred up, and he just ended up cheering himself up at the same time. Arthur knows he still hasnt gotten over Alfred leaving, and laughing with Alfred is slowly closing that gap. **

**Anyways, sorry this took so long to upload, I was really busy the past few weeks. Though I do assure you, I AM working on this fic again! And as yet another warning, it will be much bloodier and involve things that would make some people consider me sadistic seeing as what Im doing to both Alfred and Iggy later. Though for those of you who are fine with blood and having very emotional scenes, you can continue to read.**


	11. Chapter 11

In time Alfred calmed down, if only just a little, sniffling as he wiped the tears from his eyes and turned over, his head still resting on Arthur's leg as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes red from crying.

"Is this weird?" Alfred asked quietly.

"What?" Arthur looked down at him, an eyebrow raised, "You laying on my leg?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I guess it would depend on the situation… I don't think this is one of them."

"Okay… 'Cause crying makes you tired and I don't wanna move. Oh!" Alfred had been rubbing his eyes and suddenly stopped to look up at Arthur, "Where's Texas, My glasses?"

"I took them off. They're on the end table. Do you want them back?"

"Yeah." Arthur handed the glasses back to Alfred who quickly put them on, then let out a long sigh, "Iggy?"

"Yes?"

"You mean it when you say you don't hate me… Right?" Alfred finished his question hesitantly, looking away from Arthur.

Arthur sighed, "Alfred, I'm not using you. I promise you that. What ever it is that's telling you other wise is the one who's lying."

Alfred kept his eyes away for what seemed like forever, and awkward silence growing between the two until Alfred spoke up, "Do you think a dream can relate to real life events?"

It took Arthur a second to realize Alfred was talking to him. "Hem? Oh, yes. I suppose, if it's a dream that seems like it relates. Why?"

"Well… Last night I had a weird dream. I'm not sure it relates or not, I really don't think it does, but it was odd cause I haven't thought about that person in a hundred and fifty years…"

"What was it?"

"You wanna hear the whole thing?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Normally if someone says 'what was it' and their referring to a dream that means they want to know."

Alfred stuck out his lip and quickly looked away, "W-well! I know that! I was just making sure!"

Arthur laughed, "Fine then. Now, what was that dream?"

Alfred took a deep breath, "Well, when it started off I was in a dark room, but it wasn't completely dark, I could still see myself. And even though I couldn't see where the room started or ended for some reason I knew it was a room. As I was standing there I looked at myself and I was wearing my Union uniform from the Civil War." Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Then when I started walking, the farther I went the darker things got, and eventually it was so dark I couldn't even see my hand right in front of my eyes. I didn't see anything for a while either, but then as I walked I started to notice some type of cage, and for some reason it was the only thing in color, or that I could see clearly through the darkness. When I got closer to it, it looked more like a jail cell, besides the fact that the bars were much closer together. Though some of the bars looked like they had been broken off, or somehow rusted out. There was also someone in it, I couldn't make out who at first because they had their back to me, but I did see that they were fiddling with the bars, I think they were trying to break more. And by the time I was halfway past the cage thingy, he turned around and grinned at me…. When I saw him from the front it was obvious who he was, and its really weird 'cause I thought he was gone. His confederate uniform gave him away mostly, but then he also looks like me, so I guess it wasn't really that hard to tell."

"Wait…" Arthur interrupted, "The man in the cage was the Confederacy? I thought you were the Confederacy as well as America at that time."

"No… The confederacy represented the southern states during the Civil War, not me. Even though they were still technically a part of me, the Confederacy had made its own President and basically pushed anything to do with me away, claiming a whole new personification for themselves. They hated me at that time and wanted to be their own country so badly that I guess they were able to actually drag out the part of the me that represented them."

"So then the Confederacy is a part of you, but at the same time his own being?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. I mean, during the war we were completely separate, but before it he was just a part of me. Now I don't know what he is. I don't even think he exists anymore."

"Hem… Well, continuing on with what you were saying before I interrupted you."

Alfred nodded, then paused for a few more seconds. "Why does this feel like one of those counseling sessions?"

Arthur blinked at him a few times, "Because you laying down and telling me your dream and about the Civil War?"

"Eh…" Alfred's eye twitched, "Well… I guess getting back to that, the person in the cage was the Confederacy, I know that for a fact from the way he looked, which was exactly how I remember him looking. The only difference being that he wasn't wearing Texas like he was in the War."

"Sorry for the interruption again, but if the Confederacy looked exactly like you, then wouldn't you see him everyday? So you would obviously remember what he looked like."

"Well, there's slight differences. He had more of a brown-ish hair color rather than a dirty blond like mine. He also has brown eyes and tanner skin, since he's from the south and all, as well as a deep southern accent."

"Oh…"

"Yeah… but he stood in that cage staring at me and his grin only lasted a few seconds. He walked up to the side of the cage that was closest to me, and started talking, saying things like," Alfred began speaking in a deep southern accent, " _'Look who cam' tah visit. Did ya com' here just tah walk by, or are ya gonna actually let me out? You should let me out. It would be fun~.'_" He went back to speaking in his normal accent, "I didn't know what was going on so I just kept walking, but then he started yelling at me and then screaming. So then I finally turned around and yelled back, telling him I wasn't going to let him out and that I didn't even know what he was doing there in the first place. Then I walked off, ignoring his yelling until it was gone and the light came back. It was as if that area he was in was the only place that was dark, and at the same time it felt empty." Alfred sat up and then brought himself to his feet, walking off to his kitchen, Arthur following behind being sure to listen, "And that's what happened!" He laughed, reaching the counter that held a coffee maker and being messing with it.

Arthur stood behind him, still concerned, "So the Confederacy does have a different personality then?"

"Yeah." He reached for the coffee beans and began grinding them.

"What if he was what is doing this to you?"

Alfred chuckled, "Yeah right! He had a different personality, but he doesn't exist anymore! He hasn't for a hundred and fifty years! How could he being doing it? Besides, his personality wasn't like that, he wouldn't just try to make me feel this bad about myself. He was still civilized and actually pretty fun when we weren't fighting."

"Alfred, what if after the war he became a part of you again? But still that whole different personality?"

"Could be possible, but then why wouldn't I hear from him in a hundred and fifty years? I really doubt it."

An awkward silence grew between the two as Alfred finished making his coffee and poured it into his mug.

"I think he's still there, Alfred." Arthur began, "And I'm positive he's the one who's doing this."

"Why?" Alfred abruptly stopped what he was doing to listen, not turning around to look at him.

"After the war I think he must have become a part of you again, since he he was originally you in the first place. He couldn't have just died, he was the southern states at the time, was he not? Those states are still a part of you, so he must be too. I believe that maybe the reason you couldn't hear him or talk to him was because of the fact that you must have locked him up somewhere in yourself without realizing it after the war, or because you thought he was dead, even though he was not. So you must not have noticed him, and because of you locking him up is probably why he was in a cage in your dream and yelling at you to let him out. You've kept him there for a hundred and fifty years, he must be pretty pissed at you. And so with him now being a separate being in you, it could be that his personality is over taking your own. Meaning you have multiple personalities, and that's why you didn't know what was going on, because you didn't know he was there. He must be able to let himself out when you're in a weak emotional state. So in short, after the war you locked him up without noticing, and you left him there alone for a hundred and fifty years. He has probably grown to hate you more than you think. He's found some way to force his way out and is making you do things he knows will hurt you, or when he cant completely override your personality, he lies to you, and the way he's able to do that is because he's you, so he can force you to believe it."

Arthur stood still, waiting for a response, but there was none, "Alfred, did you get all that? You _were_ listening, weren't you?"

Slowly Alfred began to turn around, the sound of steady clapping echoing through the room. Arthur raised an eyebrow, stumbling back a few feet when he noticed the grin which had made its way across Alfred's face.

"You're smart!" Alfred giggled, "Almost all of that was correct!"

Arthur clenched his teeth, "How long have you been listening? What did you do with Alfred?"

"Oh?" Alfred cocked his head in a way that made him seem completely innocent, "But I am Alfred! Alfred F. Jones! You said so yourself, didn't you?"

"You're a part of him, yes, but the Alfred _I _raised is _nothing _like you." Arthur glared fiercely at the boy in front of him.

Alfred laughed, quickly glaring back with dark, demonic eyes, "He isn't, is he? That dumb ass?" As Arthur continued to glare at him he began walking forward, which in return caused Arthur to back up farther, "You know, there's only one thing keeping me from completely destroying him. Wanna know what that is?"

"Why are you trying to hurt him?" Arthur asked harshly, ignoring Alfred question.

"Why? You said so yourself! He locked me away for a hundred and fifty years! So far away that there was nothing. Absolutely _nothing_! No sight, no sound, no feelings but that of utter loneliness and emptiness, total isolation, something that you could call hell."

"And that makes you want to torture his emotions like this?"

"_Yes_!" Alfred screamed, now walking into the living room, "I _hate _him! Complete and utter emptiness is hell! _**Hell**_! And I'm going to make him suffer just as much or more then I have! And you know the only thing that's keeping me from succeeding? _**You**_!"

Arthur went cold. Those last words, 'the only thing keeping me from succeeding… you…' had been spoken in the same voice as his little brother, those words were blaming him! Alfred was saying it was his fault he wasn't succeeding! He quickly shook the thoughts from his head, this wasn't that Alfred. Alfred wasn't blaming him for anything, it was the confederacy and it was for something he should be proud to be blamed for.

Before Arthur's thoughts could go any farther he felt a strong jab in his stomach that sent him flying across the room, his back hitting the wall at full force. Stunned from shock, Arthur couldn't move, he was stuck sitting where he had landed, coughing as he tried to regain his breath. The next thing he knew there was a sudden sound of gun shots, and then a sharp pain in his shoulder, chest, side and below his ribs. He let out a whimper, biting his lip as he tried not to scream while he looked down at himself with wide eyes, watching the dark red blood seep its way into his clothes. He fearfully glanced up at Alfred, who had a gun in his hand pointed at him, as well as a sadistic smirk painted on his face.

"You bloody!" Arthur yelled, his eyebrows furled in anger, "Are you planning on killing me? You cant, git! I'm a bloody fucking country!"

Alfred walked up to him, shoving his foot on Arthur's stomach and slamming him back against the wall, snickering the whole time. His face was twisted and evil, pure hatred shining in his dark brown(Wait… Brown?) eyes, almost making Arthur suffocate just from the look he had.

"I'm not stupid, git." Alfred mocked in a really bad English accent, "Even if I cant _kill _you, I can at least wound you enough to where you wont interfere for a _very _long time." He grinned, his eyes squinted as he reached down and grabbed Arthur's neck, forcefully lifting him up from the ground and suffocating him.

Arthur scratched at Alfred's hand, cringing in pain as he tried to breath. He tried and tried to pry Alfred's fingers away with all his strength, but no matter what he did, no matter how hard he struggled, Alfred's grip just got stronger. Without warning, Alfred flung him around, dropping his grip around his neck and letting Arthur slide across the floor. He hit the living room carpet with a loud bang, making the house shake, any uncovered skin dragging itself across the rough texture of the floor. When he came to a halt, Arthur winced, his eyes shoot open as he heard Alfred begin walking over to him and so he quickly scurried to his feet, making an attempt to run.

As soon as he ran a few feet there was another gun shot, then more pain shooting up his leg from his calf muscle, and then the slow dripping of blood. Arthur fell to the floor right when he put pressure on it, and Alfred was only inches behind him now, close enough that he kicked his with full force, Arthur flying and hitting the wall for a second time. Laying against the wall Arthur groaned, his stomach twisting from both being kicked and shot. He was still bleeding and his wounds ached, his head throbbed from hitting the wall so hard, and yet somehow he knew this was just the beginning of the pain.

As Arthur thought about the pain, Alfred had made his way over to him yet again, pinning Arthur's neck on the wall with his foot. He brought his face closer to Arthur's, stopping only inches away from his ear and whispered to him in a dark, raspy voice. "You're not going to be able to run away, but I dare you to try it." Alfred stood back up again, removing his foot, now grinning wildly at Arthur. He was going to do something horrible, Arthur knew it, "Go! Try it!"

With that Arthur jumped to his feet and attempted to run, even though he knew Alfred, or should he say the confederacy, had something planed to stop him. As soon as he reached his feet Alfred grabbed him by throwing both his arms around his neck in a choke hold, running back at full speed to the wall in which he had originally threw him at. "Bang!" Arthur's head rammed into the wall, his neck bending in way it normally shouldn't causing him to loose consciousness for a few seconds, the next thing he saw being Alfred holding him up but his upper left arm, pulling the bone back as far as it would go in which a shriek of pain crawled it's way out of Arthur's throat as the bone broke in two. Alfred promptly let him go after, allowing him to stumble as he held his arm tightly at his side, cringing from the pain of all his wounds, still bleeding.

He glared fiercely at Alfred's smug grin, his teeth clenched in both anger and fear. With how strong Alfred was the confederacy could practically do whatever he wanted to a human body without much thought! There was no way he'd be able to get out of one of his grips or even attempt to fight back. The only reason he could with the real Alfred, the real America, was because Alfred knew how to control himself even when he wasn't thinking about it, but this guy? He _wanted_ to hurt people by using Alfred's strength! But no matter what happened Arthur was fixated on fighting against him, he wasn't going to let him hurt them both.

In a matter of seconds Alfred once again he threw Arthur to the wall, this time by a fierce punch in the stomach. Arthur rapidly struggled to his feet yet again, coughing furiously only to have Alfred come up behind and grab him by his shirt, shoving his upper body down on one of the back tables in the room which held a large surround sound speaker that wasn't built into the wall. Hastily, Alfred took hold of the speaker and smashed it down on Arthur's left hand, crushing the bones as much as he could, a shrill of pain escaping Arthur's throat once more as the bones in his hand shattered to pieces under his skin. Arthur fell to the floor with a thud, his body in to much pain to think about what to do. What was there to do? He was helpless, but how could he be? After all he was England! The once great empire of England! Why couldn't he help himself? Was it the fact that this was Alfred?

Another sharp pain suddenly shot threw Arthur's right femur, horror filling his eyes as he realized what had happened. Because he wasn't paying attention he didn't notice Alfred was trying to crush his leg until it was to late. Another bone had been broken in half, shattered! The scream he wanted to let out of it's cage in his throat he kept hidden, but tears replaced it, streaming down his face as if they were screaming out in fear and he bit down on his lip as hard as he could, so hard that blood began to slowly seep from the wound around his front teeth. Alfred had begun laughing as he watched Arthur's face grown in terror every second and as he laughed he lifted Arthur from the ground by his neck and threw him into the couch, hitting it with a force that tipped it over. Arthur laid twisted on the ground, his legs over the top of the couch as his arms were spread out in front of him in, his left elbow bent. Alfred slowly walked up to him, bending down and placing his arms on his knees, a knife in one of his fists.

Arthur's eyes widened in fear, "Bloody hell, Alfred!" He screamed in defense, "Don't you think you've done enough to me?"

"Not at all!" Alfred giggled sadistically, "You're not in a state to stay out of my way yet! Last time I broke your limbs you were _still_ in my way! This time I'll he sure you're gone!"

He ended with a smiled before he jabbed the knife in Arthur's left wrist, his think, dark red blood flying up on Alfred's face and splattering across the floor, the scream in which Arthur had held silent forcing it's way through his lips as he impelled himself to move, bending his knees and trying to kick Alfred in the face. Seeing what Arthur was trying to do, Alfred quickly stood up just enough to stomp his foot on Arthur's stomach, breaking multiple rib bones and shoving him back to the floor, his head hitting the carpet with a loud bang, tears swelling up in his eyes again. The knife jabbed itself into Arthur's arm five more times, each time a new shriek of pain clawing and burning his throat until finally Alfred stopped with the knife inserted right above his elbow. He drug it across the floor, cutting through Arthur's soft, human flesh and hard bone, blood seeping from the wound as he screamed at the top of his lungs, pools of the dark liquid forming beneath him. Though that wasn't enough for Alfred, he needed to make Arthur suffer more and so he removed the knife when he had drug it down to his wrist and jerked it out from his flesh, Arthur trying as hard as he could to not let himself scream.

Alfred held the knife up to his face, eye level and Arthur could see the admiration that shown in his eyes as he watched the blood slowly drip from it's tip. As soon as Alfred finished watching the fresh, bright red blood he took the knife carefully in his hand and Arthur's wrist in the other and began slowly pealing Arthur's finger nails from his left hand, blood beginning to run down his fingers. Even though the pain was immense, Arthur struggled to keep himself from screaming, biting his lip as hard he could and his face twisted from the pain. As Alfred ripped Arthur's index finger nail up, his foot still holding Arthur to the ground, Arthur held his breath, tears beginning to run down his face. He may have served in wars, he may have been shot multiple times, he may have been stabbed a few times, he may have broken his bones, but all of that at one time plus more was something that had never happened before and the pain was overwhelming. Alfred took his time pealing up the nail, making the pain worse then it could have been, Arthur clenching his teeth as the tears streamed down his face as if they never ended. "

Alfred!" Arthur cried, his voice cracking from the pain and tears, "S-stop! Alfred, please!"

Alfred snickered, knowing that the damage he was doing was greatly affecting him. He finished pealing the nail and let it fall to the floor, blood running down Arthur's finger then began on the next.

Arthur's eyes widened in horror, "Alfred! Stop it! Please!"

He closed his eyes tightly, not wishing to see the horrid look that was on his little brothers face as he tried to ignore the massive pain that went through out his entire body. The nail fell to the floor, blood slowly dripping off his hand, then Alfred began on the next as Arthur let out a scream.

"Stop!" Arthur shrieked, " You've hurt me and the real Alfred plenty! He'll hate himself enough! Just stop, damn it!"

Alfred giggled as the nail fell off and he quickly ripped off the last one, "You're still here, you'll mess with my plans, and besides, 'Alfred' won't be in enough pain if I leave you like this." A grin fell across his face as he began _slowly _pealing Arthur's thumb nail off.

Sweat rolled down Arthur's face as he cried, attempting to keep himself from wailing, "Alfred!" He let out long screamed, his voice cracking a million times.

His energy was practically drained completely from him, and all he could do was follow his emotions. He had no strength to suppress his urges to cry, his urges to scream, and so he let it all go and cried his heart out, for the pain, but also for the fear of loosing his precious little brother completely. The once great empire of England... Cried...

Alfred dropped the knife and grabbed hold of Arthur's hair, yanking him fiercely from the floor and up to his feet. He couldn't stand, the pressure on his leg sent a pain like fire up through it and neither of his arms would move. The pain from the stabbings left his muscles numb to movement, but the pain was like glass shards scattered throughout his arm. If he fell he couldn't use his hands to ketch him, all his fingers were damaged to pieces and his head ached worse than ever, plus the bullet holes in his skin hurt like hell. And with all of that, he _still_ strived to release Alfred's grip on him, lifting his leg and slamming it as hard as he could on Alfred shoulder causing Alfred to look back at him, glaring with a look that could kill you.

"Just try it, you piece of shit!" Alfred yelled, dragging Arthur across the floor by his hair, "Try to fight back!"

Arthur's arms hung at his side and his feet dragged the floor, unwilling to move but he would _make _himself move. Even though his strength was gone he was determined to fight, forcing his hands into fists and punching Alfred as hard as he could, pain shooting through his knuckles as if what bones did remain had shattered and jabbed themselves into his flesh. Alfred ignored the jerking if his head and the small sudden shock of pain and continued to pull Arthur, dragging him closer and closer to the sliding glass doors that lead out to Alfred's inground pool. When they reached the doors Alfred quickly opened it, forcing Arthur to place his right foot in the doorway, and Arthur had no strength to protest. There was something awful going to come from this, there just was, and by the looks of it, more broken bones. And Arthur was right, Alfred unhesetenly slammed the glass door shut, the force of the sliding doors crushing all the bones in his foot. A shriek of terror echoed through the large living room which seemed to be glass, the scream resonating off the walls.

The door quickly opened, releasing Arthur's foot which was now in shambles causing him to stumble back, almost falling over but Alfred took hold of his hair once more, dragging him across the ground yet again. Alfred hastily pulled him over to the table in which he had broken his fingers and held Arthur's head up at eye level, his limbs dangling at his sides. Arthur tried to look at him, his eyes drooped from lack of energy and his jaw dropped.

"How do you like it?" Alfred snickered, his eyes squinted evilly, "Having fun?"

Arthur made an attempt to respond, but he couldn't do anything but watch as the living room blurred around him and the wood table came before his eyes and then... Nothing. At least for a few seconds until his face was jerked up again, then slammed back down without a second thought, blood splattering all over his face. When he could see the table again, if only just for a second, he noticed a pool of blood had formed on it and soon his face made contact with it again, something braking in his nose and a massive sharp pain like a thousand knives suddenly stabbing his brain. Blood swarmed his face, it was dripping from his nose and to his mouth, down his chin and onto his neck, his cheeks were completely red with blood, and his eyes were blood shot, tired and almost unable to keep themselves open. His mouth hung open, blood making it's way onto his tongue and filling his mouth full of the thick, red liquid.

Alfred lifted him up to eye level again and laughed, an evil grin showing on his face. His lips moved but the words Arthur couldn't hear, and then he was dragged across the floor again, this time through the glass door and out onto the concrete that made up the pool deck. Arthur's legs skinned across the hard, rough ground, skin tearing up off his knees and blood staining his pants. As soon as Alfred reached the farthest section of the pool away from the door, the deepest section as well, he lifted Arthur once more, glaring sadistically. He said something again, the lip movements simple enough to make out as Arthur started to lose consciousness, "Have a nice swim."

A grin, then the feeling of falling, and then a immense pain shooting up through his neck as his head hit the edge of the pool, and then water. Lots and lots of water. The world around Arthur blurred ever so slowly as his consciousness left him, everything turning black as water began to fill his lungs.

* * *

**I told you things got worse! But you didn't listen! LOL Just kidding. Anyways, Im gonna try to get back on track with uploading new chapters until I reach chapter 14, cuz thats about all I have written till.** **And if you think things are bad now, pshhhhhh, its still going to get worse. And for those of you who guessed the confederacy from the beginning, congrats! **

**Im in a bit of a situation though and I'd like to ask my readers for some help. I need ideas on how to end this, cuz right now its just going in circles... So I'd like ideas for you guys on what you think are good ways to have Alfred find out what's going on with him and fix it. One idea I had was using some of Iggys magic, but that seems out of place for this... (Remember, no ideas involving yaoi, cute brotherly stuff is very much so welcome. Also, if you want to bring in France or Mattie again or others you can give ideas for that too.)**


	12. Chapter 12

"Iggy? Dude, Why'd you stop talking?"

Alfred had his eyes placed on his coffee, not taking any notice to the fact it was cold. Though, Arthur's voice wasn't echoing throughout the room and he did notice that, so where was he? He turned his head around slowly, trying to find where Arthur had disappeared to, his eyes darting around the kitchen.  
He looked back at his coffee, his eyebrows furled in confusion, "Where did that Brit go?"

Alfred tilted his head to the side, squinting as he realized there was no steam rising from the cup of coffee, "Okay..? That's not normal... This was hot a few seconds ago." He took a quick glance at the clock, "Annnnddddd that's not normal either..." He raised and eyebrow, "Wasn't it noon when I walked in here? How can an hour pass just by making coffee?"

Alfred turned and slowly walked out of the kitchen, glancing all around his house trying to find any signs of Arthur. The couch which had been tipped over caught his attention, and the closer he came the more he noticed. Not only did the couch make him curious, but as soon as he saw the knife and dark red blood stains on the floor his heart jumped. Why was there blood? Or at least he thought it was blood.

He bent down, stretching out a hand to see how fresh the blood was, or if it was even wet at all, but as soon as he took sight of his hands Alfred jumped back, his eyes widened with horror. Blood on his own hands before he even touch it! Again! Now there was defiantly something wrong, what did he do this time? Alfred tried to keep himself calm, taking a deep breath and then sighing. What ever he did he was going to fix it. He hoped...

Touching the blood that was soaked into the floor lightly, red spots of liquid clung to Alfred's fingers. Defiantly was fresh, so what he did wasn't done to long ago. Shifting his eyes around the pool of blood he noticed something a little glassy looking, and then a few more.

Alfred picked one up and raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side, "A finger nail? Oh... God..." He quickly placed a hand over his mouth, starting to tear up and looked away, slowly standing back up.

He took another look around the room, noticing the blood on the wall next to the glass door that seemed to be from a gun shot and then the gun which had been thrown on the floor. So, he used a gun, he knew that, and a knife, but how much damage did he do really? And where was Arthur? He had to have been the one the blood belong to, there was no one else in the house, unless Mathew had come back.

It was then that Alfred looked at the table which sat on the other side of the room from him, watching drops of blood slowly trickle off it and onto the carpet, staining it red. When he walked over he saw that it was a pool of blood on the table top, not just a few drops here and there like he had thought, making him fear the situation of the victim even more, that victim he was scared would end up being Arthur. His eyes followed a small trail of blood that had run to the sliding glass doors and he squinted to keep following it out the doors and onto the deck to where he couldn't see it any longer, finally stepping to find where it ended. As he followed the blood the fear became stronger and stronger, almost suffocating him. He had just begun to feel better! And now this? He didn't want to see what he had done, and he knew that he would any minute but he wished he wouldn't have to. Maybe if he waited for Mathew to come back... But then the victim would be stuck where ever he had been left for a much longer period of time than necessary, and what if it was Arthur?

When Alfred reached the edge of the deck, or more like the concrete that lead up to the pool, he stopped and gulped down his hesitation, biting his lip and then stepped on the deck. He had to do this, even of it scared him half to death. He began slowly following the trail of blood once again, finally reaching the edge of the back end of the pool, the deepest section, and took a deep breath, scared to look into the water. Once he got together enough courage to look in, he leaned partly over the water, just enough to see the bottom, and opened his eyes.

A sudden gasp came from Alfred's mouth as his eyes teared up in horror, "Iggy!" He screamed, diving into the water.

Within seconds he was at the bottom of his ten foot deep pool wrapping his arms around Arthur's mutilated body to begin swimming up to pull him back up on solid ground, and in only a few more seconds he began pounding on Arthur's stomach, trying to get him to breath again. Alfred froze when he was unable to succeed in his attempts, tears beginning to slowly run down his face. He bit his lip and starred at Arthur's expressionless face, wiping his nose as he sniffed. He began trying to get him to breath again, eventually performing CPR. After a few attempts at that Arthur finally showed some signs of motion and began coughing, Alfred jumping only a little as to not be right in front if him. A soft smile inched across Alfred's face, but the smile was short lived when Arthur didn't move anymore, Alfred could only feel a very light pulse and there was almost no breathing from him.

"Iggy..." Alfred took a deep breath an lifted his head, keeping his eyes on Arthur, and then let it out, but instead of just exhaling tears burst from his eyes as he began whaling, throwing his arms around Arthur's shoulders and holding him close to him, "Iggy I'm so sorry! I didn't..! I... I'm sorry... Please be okay! Please, Iggy..."

Alfred didn't know how long he was crying, all he knew was that at some point he picked Arthur up and brought him inside and placed him on the couch which he quickly fixed, hoping that he would wake up. He left the weapons where they were and continued to let the blood stain the carpet as he sat right beside Arthur, just as he had done when he had passed out the day before. The minutes passed slowly and Alfred tried to do anything he could to help the older nation. He took gauze from his medicine drawer just like Arthur had done for him and wrapped it around his open wounds, wrapping his hand completely to make sure his fingers weren't exposed.  
As Alfred waited silently by his older brother he held back the tears, but he could feel them pricking the edges of eyes. The door clicked open and in walked Mathew, multiple Wal-Mart bags in his hands as he pushed the front door open with his shoulder.

"Arthur! Alfred!" Mathew called, expecting one of the older countries to be around, "Can someone help me with these?"

The first room he walked into was the living room and he quickly set down the pile of bags, not taking a second thought to look around. Alfred stared at him from behind the couch where he sat not even making the slightest attempt to move. Mathew looked up and jumped, startled by the look that Alfred was giving him.

"Uh, hey Alfred." Mathew said hesitantly, slowly walking up to him, "Why do you look... Not like yourself?" He stood a few feet from the couch now and didn't bother to look and see who way laying on it, from where he stood he wasn't able to see them anyways, or if there was even someone on it.

Alfred looked down at his hands, "What do you do if the person you care about most is hurt? And hurt by you? But you don't remember it?"

Mathew raised an eyebrow, "Are you saying... You hurt Arthur?" Alfred quickly glanced up at him, his lip quivering as he tried to hold back tears, "Where is he?" Alfred pointed to the couch and Mathew took a look, gasping from the shock of Arthur's condition.

He quickly spun around and looked straight in Alfred's eyes which in return caused Alfred to lose it and he threw his face into his hands and cried, tears falling to the floor.

"I didn't mean to Mattie!" Alfred wailed, "I don't even remember! How could I do that? I didn't! I swear!"

The touch of a hand to Alfred's should made him jolt, his sadded eyes fixated on his younger brother who seemed to want to comfort him by the look in his eyes. A very understanding look, like he knew Alfred really didn't mean to hurt Arthur. Mathew turned back around and looked at Arthur once again, examining his wounds and then changed his view to the blood on the floor and around the room.

"Is all that blood Arthur's?" Mathew asked softly, trying not to upset Alfred to much more.

Alfred sniffed and began wiping the tears from his eyes then nodded, "It was all over my face and hands… but I washed it off… There's… blood in my pool too…"

"What?" Mathew asked, shocked, turning around to look at Alfred again.

"Yeah… I… I found him in the pool like that…" Alfred bit his lip and looked up at Mathew, "Why would I throw Iggy into a pool?" His eyes filled with tear again. "If I was joking around, sure Id throw him into a pool! But when he's like this?" His voice began cracking as he held back the tears the best he could, "Why would I _try_ to drown him? He cant swim in that condition! And now he wont wake up!" Alfred gasped for a breath of air and then began wailing, "Iggy wont wake up, Mattie! He wont!"

The room was silent as it listened to Alfred's cries. Mathew wasn't sure what to do, she he try to comfort Alfred or should he try to take care of Arthur? In the end he left Alfred cry and walked around the couch, bending down by Arthur's side and checked his pulse. It was faint, very faint, but it was there. Thank god Arthur was a country, because he would have been dead if he was human, his pulse was so slow and faint that he should have died. Mathew continued to examine his wounds, checking all the bones that looked twisted and forced them back into position, or at least the bones in his arm. Unlike usual when someone forces a bone back in place, Arthur made no response. No shout of pain, no wince, not even the slightest reaction. Something was definitely wrong, if he was just passed out there would have been a reaction, but there was nothing. Nothing. He lifted Arthur's right arm gently, examining the bandages that were placed around his arm.

He looked over again at Alfred who was trying to calm down, his hand rubbing one of his eyes as the other hand wiped his nose, "Why are these bandages all bloody?"

Alfred glanced up, then pointed to the knife that was on the floor, "stab wounds…"

"Stab wounds?"

Alfred nodded, sniffling a few times and then lifted up his own arm, "Its… deeper than mine…"

"How?"

"With mine you can only start to see the bone, but what I did to Iggy… I… The knife went all the way though his arm, bone and all… and the cut foes all the way from his elbow to wrist, and then there's o-other stab wounds around it…" He hesitated, bringing his hand back up to his eyes, wiping the tears away once more, "And then his fingers…" He bit his lip and whined, shaking his head back and forth.

Mathew raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong with his fingers?"

Alfred pointed to the floor. Mathew was a little hesitant to look and see what it was but finally he turned and bent down, examining the floor.

"I don't see anyth-Oh…" His eyes became wide with surprise when he saw the nails on the ground, just the thought of having his own nails ripped off made him shiver, he couldn't imagine how Arthur had felt.

He stood up once more and glance back down at Arthur, then back up at Alfred who was trying his best not to cry. Alfred didn't like crying, especially in front of others, it didn't fit him. He wasn't weak, he was a strong country and he could stand on his own, or at least so he thought. Maybe he truly was weak, he couldn't stand on his own, not now, not in this situation, it felt almost impossible. Whenever he tried to take control of the voices in his head they just got stronger, when his memories started to come back he became horrified and the pain in his heart just kept getting worse and worse. The pain felt physical, but he knew for a fact it wasn't, and because of that he always kept trying to find ways to get it to go away, but it would never go away, never.

The only thing that had ever succeeded in removing that pain was the comfort from his older brother. Arthur could bring him back to his senses, he always said the right things, always able to make him feel safe. It had always been Arthur who had helped him through this, even when Alfred had hurt him. But now… Now Arthur was so badly hurt he wouldn't even wake up, and anything and everything in Alfred was crying. Why did he hurt him? Why? Why didn't he notice he was hurting him like last time? Why didn't he?

"Mattie..?" Alfred whispered, choking on his words as he glanced from the floor to Mathew and back to the floor again, "How… Can I be a hero…" He bit his lip and hesitated, tears almost flowing over the rims of his eyes, "If I keep h-hurting my f-friends..?" He let out a whimper and threw his face in his hands yet again, unable to keep the tears subdued any longer.

Mathew didn't know how he should respond, all he know to do was take Arthur to a hospital to get help, but what If Alfred didn't want that? No matter what though, he would have to go eventually. His wounds needed to be treated by a professional, he couldn't go untreated, they themselves didn't even know what all was wrong.

"I… I don't know Alfred…" Mathew said finally, "But I do know that Arthur cant stay here, we have to bring him to a hospital."

Alfred looked up at him, his hands still covering his eyes but fingers moved just enough to look out, "B-but…""

As Mathew began to pick Arthur up off the couch Alfred stared in horror, not wanting him to take Arthur away. Mathew noticed and figured that would have been his reaction, so he walk around the couch with Arthur in his arms and tapped Alfred on the shoulder.

"Come on." He said, tilting his head towards the door and smiling softly, "Lets go."

Arthur had been rushed to the emergency room as soon as they arrived, and now Alfred and Mathew waited outside, anxiously awaiting the results(Alfred had washed himself down with wipes and water as to not look to dirty from the night before). Time passed slowly for both of them, the whole time Alfred looking as though he had no emotion, not even the slightest bit. He sat in one of the chairs, arms resting on his knees as he leaned forward, his eyes dark and empty. It was as if he had lost himself, an empty shell, and all that Mathew could do was sit next to him.

Mathew remember how Arthur looked when Alfred was in a come, the look in his eyes was quite the same, but Alfred's now were… worse. More empty, more… destroyed. Alfred had been… destroyed.

The hour passes and in time the doctor came out to meet them.

"Mr. Jones? Mr. Williams?"

Mathew stood up and shook the doctors hand, "Hello, how is Arthur?"

Alfred glanced up at the name, but he didn't move.

"Mr. Kirkland…" the doctor began, "He had multiple broken bones, gun shot wounds and stab wounds, all together bad but not something that wouldn't take more than a few months to heal."

There was a small flicker in Alfred's eyes as Mathew smiled, "Oh, that's good."

"But," Alfred jerked his head up to the doctor, "His nose was smashed up into his skull, piercing his brain." Both Alfred and Mathew became shocked, "As you may have already figured from how low his pulse was, if he was a normal human, he would be dead. His brain was pierced and wont function. It will take a longer time for that to heal than any of his other wounds…"

"So…" Mathew said, looking down at Alfred who was on the verge of crying once more, "What… What's going to happen to him?"

"Mr. Kirkland is in a coma because his brain, even though inhuman, is damaged. I don't know how long it will be, not I or anyone I know has ever dealt with a patient like this. All I can say is that it will be a long time, longer than a few months. He will need surgery before he can even begin to heal, and that cant be preformed until some of his other wounds heal, it would put to much stress on his body. It might also be best if he is transported back to England and let the doctors there help him, he shouldn't be away from his country for as long as this will be."

Mathew stood dumbfounded, soon looking down at Alfred to find that small tears ran down his face.

"Um… Thank you." Mathew replied, taking his gazed back to the American doctor, "Can we visit? What room is he in?"

The doctor called for a nurse who led them up to the room in which Arthur was in and they stayed there for hours, Mathew watching Alfred hold back his tears as he saw Arthur in all his casts and bandages. Alfred just sat and waited, he did nothing but wait and Mathew was at a loss of what to do yet again. Should he wait with Alfred? Should he leave?

By the time night fell upon New York City they had been there all day, neither one of them spoke one word, and now visiting hours were over and Mathew made his way to the door.

"We should go now, Alfred." he said softly as a nurse came up behind him.

"Visiting hours are over you two, you need to head down stairs."

Mathew turned to face the woman, "Got it. We were just about to head down. Come on Alfred." He motioned for Alfred to follow him.

Alfred slowly walked from the room, his eyes never leaving Arthur stoic figure until the door closed behind him. They walked out of the hospital in silence, Alfred's head hung in sorrow, and when they reached the road Alfred looked up.

"Mattie…"

Mathew quickly turned around, "Yeah?"

"Can you… Not come home with me?"

"What?"

"I... I wanna be alone… For a while…"

"Are you sure?" Alfred nodded, "You wont hurt yourself?"

"I'd feel better being alone."

"Uh… Okay. Just don't do anything to hurt yourself."

Alfred nodded again, walking off in the direction of his house, "Yeah."

When Alfred got back to his house he took a long look around, glancing from the shadows that covered the walls to the broken relics on the floor. The more he looked around the stronger his heart ached. He took a few steps in, refusing to look any longer at the memories in his living room and stumbled to the kitchen. There was to much there, to much in his house, no matter where he looked his heart just got heavier, and soon he couldn't even breathe.

He grabbed hold o f his kitchen counter, trying to hold himself up and clawing at his chest in attempts to halt the ever growing pain. Why did his heart hurt so bad? It felt as though it was a time bomb, just waiting to explode. How could he get the pain to go away? How? He didn't want to hurt this bad, he was sick of hurting, he always hurt, no matter what he did, he always hurt. Why did he have to hurt..?

The stronger the pain got, the harder he clawed at his chest and sweat rolled down his face and back. His vision began blurring as he breathed faster and faster, the room beginning to spin. His heart hurt _so_ bad, so unbelievably bad, but nothing would take the pain away, not anymore. The strength in him was drained out by the pain and he was unable to hold himself up any longer, watching as the room spin around him as he crashed to the floor.

The next morning when Alfred awoke, he sat up, his hand over his heart. It still hurt, and the pain had only let up a tinny bit. He brought himself to his feet, his eyes deep with sorrow, and walked over to his phone, picking it up and dialing a number. After he hung up he rushed out his front door.

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**Reviews are greatly appreciated. I really do enjoy knowing what you guys think of this story. :D**

**Not much to say about this chapter really, besides that this will be one of the main ones with Canada.  
**


	13. Chapter 13

In a few hours Alfred found himself outside a small airport in Alaska. Anywhere he wanted to go he could go, and right now he wanted to be here, here alone in Alaska, the one state that anyone would have a hard time finding him in. He didn't want to be with anyone, he didn't want to talk to anyone, he just wanted to be alone, to be alone and get rid of the pain.

He took a hike up through the mountains, trying to ignore the pain and enjoy the scenery instead, but the pain was so harsh, so stressful, that his breath was stolen from him, his joints freezing from the lack of energy. It took him a long while to make it up the mountains, but eventually he made it to a small two story house overlooking one of the small Alaskan lakes. Alfred opened the door and took a quick look inside, the house was dark and smelled unused, but he guessed thats what would happen if he didn't live someplace for a few years. Even though he had been away so long, the sturdy foundation and building blocks of the house had kept out the harsh, cold Alaskan weather, so well that it was now quite comfortable to live in.

As he strolled into the house he threw himself on the living room couch, dust flying up here and there, but he didn't care, he just wanted to rest. Alfred lazily gazed across the room, trying to remember what he did his last visit here. The front door sat at the wall of a wide, open entryway, the kitchen and dinning room on either side and a flight of stairs laid at the side of a narrow hallway which lead from the entryway past the kitchen and into a large living room. What ever it was he did here, he didn't remember. Maybe he was to tired. He closed his eyes, his arm hanging off the couch and his face buried in the cushions.

_ʻ__**You **__killed him.ʼ_

Alfred eyes shot open. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and with every beat more and more pain shot through his veins, his body becoming unbearably hot with fear.

_ʻYou killed Arthur.ʼ_

He clenched his teeth and forced his eyes closed, tears beginning to build up, "Iggyʼs not dead!" Alfred yelled, his voice echoing off the empty walls, "Heʼs not! He canʼt die! Donʼt tell me heʼs dead!"

_ʻBut he is dead. Didn't you see him? He wouldn't move.ʼ_

"Heʼs in a coma! Not dead!"

_ʻOh, but a coma...ʼ_

_ʻShouldn't it be just as bad as being dead?ʼ_

_ʻYou never know when theyʼll wake up!ʼ_

_ʻHe could spend the rest of his life asleep.ʼ_

_ʻMight as well call him __**dead**__!ʼ_

"No!" Alfred shrieked, jumping up off the couch, "No, no, no!" He threw his hands to his ears, shaking his head back and forth, "Leave me alone! _Leave me alone! __**Leave me alone!**__"_

As soon as he finished yelling tears burst from his eyes, his knees giving out on him and he fell to the floor, crying his heart out. He wailed and wailed, hours upon hours, the voice still whispering to him, softly whispering, slowly, so very slowly, kneading its web of lies through his head, making him believe, forcing him to believe. Believing was the last thing he wanted. He didn't want to believe Arthur would never recover, he didn't want to believe that it was all his fault, he didn't want to believe that everyone hated him, he didn't want to believe, but everything in him rejected his own thoughts.

He repeated it over and over again, "Its not my fault, its not my fault! Iggy isn't dead, Iggy isn't dead!" Over and over he said it, just trying to make himself believe his own words, trying and trying to believe. Why couldn't he believe his own words, yet he couldn't help but believe the words of this voice in his head? Why? Why..?

The hours past and now, when darkness fell across the lake and the mountains, the shadows cast by the moon crawling through the house like that dead, trying to pull you into their grasp, suffocating you, A laid on the floor, his eyes empty with despair. His arm was stretched out above his head, his figures slowly creeping though the bandages wrapped around his wounds, letting the torn material fall off around him. Pain, he needed pain, he needed some pain to take away this horrible, horrible feeling in his heart, and he didn't even notice what he was doing. He didn't know he wanted to feel some other pain, he didn't know, all he knew was the pain was over whelming.

As his fingers began to dig into hid torn flesh, droplets of bright, shimmering blood engulfed his arm, covering the floor in red. The pain hot up his arm, and for a moment it made him feel sedated, relived and dazed, but jut as quickly as it came, the feeling left, leaving him feeling worse than before. He wanted it back, he needed it back, and then began the floor of blood, the floor over flowing in red liquid, engulfing anything it touched. Alfred's body laid in the think blood, not caring to move as his fingers shifted out of the way of the gushing blood, progressing slowly to keep tearing at more flesh.

The punctured veins flow of blood never ended, and in time the pool filed the floor, Alfred slowly, very slowly, loosing consciousness. the room blurred, the pain increased, everything going black.

Alfred awoke suddenly, his head spinning and heart aching, blood _covering _his body. He was in the exact same position, an everything in the room was exactly the same as well, the only thing off was that the blood on the floor had partly dried, seeping into the floor boards. It has been a few days probably since he inflicted the wound on himself and the vein had already closed once more, blood flowing evenly through his body again.

He took a moment to regain his sight, watching as the room blurred in and out a few times. Once he could see Alfred attempted to lift himself from the floor into a sitting position, cringing ever once and again if to much pressure was placed on his wounded arm. When he was finally able to look around, he did so for a few seconds until the pain began to build up inside of him once more, causing him to moan and lose his balance, falling to his back on the floor.

He wasn't going to cry, he wouldn't. Crying didn't hep him, so why should he cry? He wasn't going to! Even though he told himself this, the tears kept coming, kept raising up in him until they poured out.

_ʻIts all your fault youʼre in this situation.ʼ_

The voice began to toy with his head again, and as it echoed Alfred quickly lost himself, beginning to wail loudly. With his arm covering his eyes, he cried and cried, listening to the voice and all it lies.

_ʻIf it wasn't for you none of this would have happened.ʼ_

_ʻArthur hates you now. How could he love you after what you did to him?ʼ_

_ʻDonʼt you see how much he hates you?ʼ_

_ʻNo one likes you.ʼ_

_ʻYouʼre a murderer!ʼ_

_ʻYou __**are **__a murderer!ʼ_

He couldn't take it anymore. He had to do something to get it to stop, but how? Quickly Alfred jumped to his feet, stumbling first but then throwing his head forward, the contents of his stomach flying to the ground. A bad mistake on his part, he should have never gotten up so quickly having had so much blood loss, but soon the memory of his vomiting disappeared as he wiped his mouth and a migraine pounded the sides of his brain. The pain in his heart overtook almost everything else, and he gasped for air, stumbling over to the wall to use as support, and continued to cry yet again.

He couldn't take it. No matter what he did the pain only got worse. Why did it get worse? Why could he never feel better anymore? Why?

_ʻIts all your fault. Its all your fault. Its all your fault...ʼ_

These whispers chanted through his head, never ending, never ceasing, never. They chanted, coming from every direction, tormenting him. When he opened his eyes enough to see again, the blood on his hand caught his attention. Maybe he could get the voices to go away if he wrote what they were saying, just maybe, just maybe. With that idea in his head he moved slightly away from the wall, dragging his fingers across the rough drywall, red blood staining the fivers with larger words or ʻIts all my fault...ʼ

This routine continued for weeks. Alfred would pass out from blood lass, wake up and the voices would torment him, making him cry, then he would write on the walls in blood and soon being to dig into his arm again. After two and a half months, Alfred found himself in his kitchen, the pain in his heart now worse than it had ever been. He took one of the knives and set his arm on the counter, beginning to tear out his flesh. Blood flowed out all over the counter top, dripping down to the floor and forming pools. Alfred cringed every now and again, the pain from the scraping of the knife partly soothing this pain in his heart. The more he cut himself, the heavier his heart became, and in return the deeper he dug into his skin, chinks of his flesh falling down around him. He whined and groaned, just trying to make this heave, grotesque pain in his heart disappear and jabbed the knife straight into his wrist.

"Meah! Mehmah, mehmah mahse-"

The muffled ringtone of a cell phone went off from the living room, pull Alfred out of his painful trance. He looked around the room uneasily, but soon realized i was his phone and he looked back to his arm. Maybe whoever it was would stop calling, his phone had randomly gone off hundreds of time since he got here, not once checking it. Most of the time he didn't even hear it ringing, so why this time?

Alfred slowly twisted the knife to remove it from his body, blood gushing from the wound with every movement, and with shaking legs he made his way to his bomber jacket which was thrown on the back of the ouch. Hs blood covered hands searched the jacket for his phone, finally pulling it from one of the pockets, the screen now covered in red. He wiped the blood off with his thumb, succeeding in only smearing it enough to see who had called. It was Francis and a voicemail too.

Alfred set the voice mail on play, bringing the phone up to his ear.

"Amerique? Amerique, where are you? Are you okay? Amerique everyone is worried."

_ʻEveryone but Iggy...ʼ _Alfred thought as he listened.

"I donʼt know where you are, Amerique, but I hope to see you soon., theres another world meeting ext week to makeup for what happened last time, this time in Germany. Next week Thursday. Im really hoping to see you Amerique, I hope nothings wrong. A plus tard."

Alfred dropped the phone on the couch, stunned. A world meeting? That meant he had to be there, but how could he be? he felt horrible! He looked horrible! What if the voices started up again like last time? What if he started to remember? What if? What if?

"Guten morgen, everyone." Ludwig looked around the room glancing at the two empty seats in the front, "Does anyone know where our two main English speaking countries are?"

Mathew raised his hand, "Arthur wonʼt be able to make it... He... um... Just canʼt."

It was amazing how people listened to him when Alfred wasn't around or they were looking for someone, "Okay, what about America?"

"I called his cell last week," Francis began, "but he didn't answer... I don't know where he is."

With that Ludwig decided to go on with the meeting and began talking about the issues brought up last time. Thirty minutes into the discussion, which went much smoother without Arthur or Alfred, the door suddenly opened, everyone stopping to stare at the stressed American who walked into he room.

"Amerique!" Francis yelled, very surprised and jumping out of his seat, worried knowing some of the things that were going on with him, "Where were you?"

Alfred laughed a little, pulling down the right sleeve of his bomber jacket, "I was in Hawaii and I forgot my phone so I didn't get your messages till a few days ago,."

"Why do you look so... tired?" Faliciano asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Um... Jet lag? Duh!" Alfred laughed, trying to act like everything was alright, "Itʼs like... almost a ten hour difference."

"Oh... right."

Alfred took his seat next to Ivan and Yao, he had thought up those excuses long ago, hoping they would believe it, and they did, for the most part. From the expressions on Francis and Mathew's faces they obviously did not. For a while Alfred stayed quiet, just listening to the conversation.

_ʻLook at them all...ʼ_

Alfred sat up in his seat, beginning to glance around uneasily.

_ʻTheir all planning against you.ʼ_

He clenched his teeth, jerking his head back and forth quickly looking at everyone in a panic, catching the attention of most of the other countries.

"America?"

"Whatʼ wrong?"

"Hey, you okay?"

Alfred forced himself to sit still, trying to keep himself from showing all his fears as small droplets of sweat accumulated on his forehead, "Y-yeah. Everythingʼs-" He cringed and brought his hand up to his arm, scratching at it through his jacket, "F-fine."

He twitched and looked down at his arm, trying to get his hand through the opening of his right sleeve, clawing furiously at his wound. It itched so bad to the point that he couldn't stand it, there would be no way he couldn't scratch at it, but when would it stop? Who knew if it would, and the countries around him were becoming concerned as they watched him, his face twisted in pain. Blood began to run down his arm, splattering on the table below, and being so focused on the pain, Alfred didn't even notice.

"Amerique!" Francis yelled, trying to get his attention, "What's with all that blood?"

Alfred jumped and looked at the table, the red liquid all over. He quickly glanced up, his eyes full of fear, still clawing at this wound It wouldn't stop itching! Wasn't he already making a big enough fool of himself? But now this? Now something were everyone could see he was suffering?

Still scratching It furiously he rose from the table, panic written all over his face, how much he was sweating didn't help the situation either. He turned his face from the countries around the room, his foot digging into the floor in order to get a good running start.

"I-I… Excuse me…" Alfred took off out of the room, the door slamming tightly behind him as he ran down the quiet halls of the building. They were quieter than he expected, but if somewhere to come looking for him, he would know if they were coming, and he didn't want anyone to find him.

Eventually he found the bathroom running inside and tearing his jacket off, cringing as it scaled across his skin. He turned the sink water on almost immediately, throwing his arm under the running water, tempted to let out a scream as it set his open flesh on fire, the clear water mixing with think red as it rolled down the drain. Even so, Alfred was still clawing at the wound, causing think coats of red to fill the sink in sporadic instances. Why did this hurt him so bad right now? He could feel his heart beginning to swell, beginning to feed him all the pain in the world. Why now? Why now?

Even though he had run out on the meeting, no one came to look for him, even when one and a half hours had passed. Alfred finally got himself together by the time the meeting had finished and had cleaned up all the blood he got around the room,. No one would ever know what happened. Ever.

Alfred walked out into the main hall where all the other countries were getting ready to leave. He would, the best he could, try to get out of the building without anyone noticing him, but that was most likely impossible, and he was right.

"Amerique!" Francis yelled, running up behind him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright? What's wrong? What happened?"

Alfred turned to him, his eyes shaking nervously, "E-everything's f-fine." He smiled uneasily, "I-I, you know, I… I'm busy, so I need to leave." He turned around and quickly ran to the door, Francis trying to follow behind him, but lost him as he ran out into the large city of Berlin.

"Shit…" Francis mumbled, knowing he had just let Alfred run off to hurt himself.

Almost automatically Alfred flew straight back to Alaska, hiding away in his house yet again, but this time something was different. This time… This time his heart was suffocating him, on fire. Tit was on first, or so it seemed., and Alfred couldn't take it. For the first few days back he couldn't breathe and he laid on his couch gasping for air, grabbing his chest trying to get the pain to stop. How could he get the pain to go away? How?

The voices started up again, tormenting him, slowly killing him. They made him scream and cry, not wanting to listen to them, but he had no choice. They6 flocked into his mind, changing his train of thought to something that was not his own, even changing his actions. For days upon end Alfred cried and cried, screaming his lungs out from the pain. On the pain. Why did it have to be him? Why as he the one going through this? Why?

Eventually he stated back up with cutting himself and sometimes passing out from blood loss, that blood filling his house and he wrote on the walls once more. He was going insane, he didn't want to deal with this feeling anymore , he didn't want to cut himself, he didn't want to hurt himself, but at the same time he didn't want to stay here, the pain wad to overwhelming for him to handle any longer.

_The man next to Alfred now was trying to run away, limping as they drug their shot leg across the floor. Alfred jumped to attack the man, putting his arm tightly across his neck, strangling him slightly as he removed the mans tie. When the tie was in his hand he removed his arm, throwing the tie around the mans neck and placing his foot on his back. He shoved himself backwards, breaking the mans spine in half and the tie causing a few of his muscle's to rip, the skin by his upper back tearing._

Alfred shot up off the floor, his body covered in sweat and his heart burning a hole in his chest. He gasped for air, truing to stop his head from spinning and forcing his lungs to work, but they wouldn't and the room just spun faster. Blood stained his body, his hair, his clothes and he practically had drowned in his own blood there was so much of it. He had torn himself apart to the point there was almost nothing left of his arm, blood, even now, days after he had last inflicted damage on himself, slowly dripped from the open wound.

He wouldn't take it, not any longer. Not only did he hurt, but the memories began to floor back, showing him all the horrors he had committed and his mind couldn't take it. Why would he kill them? Why would a hero do something like that? Why would _he_ do that? Why? He didn't want to continue to live with these feeling, he didn't want to be here, he didn't want to stay, He had hurt his own people, his friends, his family… Arthur… why would he hurt Arthur? His brother… His big brother… Why would he hurt him?

* * *

**Omg Im getting closer and closer the the part that I havnt thought up yet... I wonder if I should just quit cuz I have NO idea how to end this...**


	14. Chapter 14

"Alfred? _Alfred_?"

The front door of Alfred's house was thrown open, landing against the wall with a loud 'thud'.

"Alfred? Alfred where are you?"

Arthur stood at the doorway, peering into the dark, murky entryway of the house, cringing at the overwhelming smell of old, dried blood and torn flesh that burst forth. He took a deep breath and walked in, flipping the light switch on.

A sudden gasp echoed through the empty halls. Arthur didn't know what to do; he didn't know what to think. What had Alfred done to himself? There were pools of fresh and dried blood _all_ over the floors, writing in that same blood on the walls with words like _'It's all my fault', 'I shouldn't be here', 'Everyone hates America', 'Living is useless', 'I'm no hero'_, etc. Knives laid, stained red, on the kitchen counters, needles and syringes were scattered all over the floors, and Alfred's jacket was thrown down on the couch, almost completely colored red.

"Oh…my…God…" Arthur stood stoic, staring at the horrific scene in front of him, "Alfred…W-what…did you do?"

Arthur slowly shuffled his way in, darting his eyes around to try and find his brother, but there was no one. No movement, no sound.

A yell from the upper floor made Arthur jump, and then it turned to crying, and then silence. Arthur quickly picked up his feet and ran up the stairs, bursting through Alfred's bedroom door and running to the bedside.

"Alfred!" Arthur cried, trying to pull the blankets away from Alfred who cowered under them, "Are you okay? What did you do to yourself?"

Just as Arthur placed his hand on what he was sure was Alfred's shoulder, Alfred swung his fist around, punching Arthur in the face, sending him flying to the floor. Alfred jumped up and forced himself up against the wall, his knees shaking, head spinning, eyes dark and weary, dried blood covering his whole body and sweat chilling his face, back and chest. He let out a long scream, covering his ears and tears streaming down his face.

"Don't touch me! _Don't touch me_!" Alfred pushed himself up father against the wall, his heels attempting to dig themselves into the drywall.

Arthur quickly got back on his feet, ignoring the pain on his face and ran up to Alfred, grabbing hold of his wrists and pulling them away from his ears, "Alfred! Get a hold of yourself!"

Alfred jerked his hands away quickly and pushed Arthur to the floor, "I said don't touch me!" With this Alfred forced his back up against the wall again, clawing at the drywall with his broken fingernails and began wailing.

Staring up at the younger country from the floor, Arthur's eyes filled with fear and worry as he noticed how Alfred really looked. His eyes weren't just dark, but they were old, tired and cold. There was no life in them. They had dark bags placed beneath them, darker than Arthur had ever seen on him. He had _never _had eyes like this. Not only were his eyes tired, but also his body could barely stand under his own weight, a weight that seemed to have decreased greatly. His clothes were baggy, his face was thinner, and the muscles which were once on his arms had almost disappeared. He was…too thin to be Alfred. Way too thin. With those two things he would have already looked bad enough, but he didn't even look nineteen anymore. He was so tired, so worn out, so thin that he looked as though he could have been older than thirty, maybe even forty.

Slowly, Arthur raised himself from the ground, trying his best not to scare the boy in front of him who clawed at the wall as if there was some evil demon chasing him.

"Alfred," Arthur said confidently, placing a hand out as if to keep Alfred from coming to close, "I'm only trying to help." He began shifting his way over to his former colony who had begun shaking uncontrollably, "Do you know who I am?"

Alfred bit his lip so hard small beads of fresh blood ran down his chin, but he said nothing. "I'm Arthur, Al. Iggy. Remember?"

"You can't be Iggy!" Alfred screamed, his voice rough and obviously tired. Had he been crying and screaming like this the whole time Arthur was in a coma? "Iggy's in a coma! You can't be him!"

"Alfred!" Arthur yelled, firmly holding Alfred's shoulders, "I'm awake! I'm here! I _am _Arthur!"

Alfred shook his head furiously, wailing as he spoke. "No, Iggy's in a coma! He's in a coma! He's not here! He can't be here!"

"I _am_ here, Al!" Arthur screamed back, trying to shake the boy back into reality, "I'm here and I'm not leaving!"

"Iggy's not here! Stop shitting me!"

With that Alfred wrenched himself away from Arthur, pushing him to the floor as he ran out of the room, slamming a door down the hall with a loud bang. It took Arthur a few moments to realize what all had just happened and pull himself to his feet again when there was a huge crash from the room Alfred had locked himself into. Arthur dashed out into the hallway, trying every room to pin point the American, finally shaking the doorknob of the bathroom door furiously.

"Alfred!" Arthur screamed, doing all he could to try and open the locked door, "Alfred, open the door! Open it right now! Alfred, are you listening to me! Open the door!"

No response, no noise, not even the slightest hint that there was someone in the other side came from the room. Arthur took a panicked look around the hall. Was there anything he could use to pick the lock? With a harsh gaze he looked back at the doorknob and muttered a few words under his breath. Not too long after the lock burst and the door slid open. He flung the door open, rushing in, but stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Alfred collapsed on the floor, barely breathing.

Arthur's eyes filled with tears, quickly noticing the syringe and bag of white powder that had fallen around Alfred's body. When did Alfred get a hold of heroin? How long had he been injecting himself with it? Why was he using it? Why would he be so stupid? Why? Why?

With Alfred being so weak and now having heroin flowing through his veins, Arthur carefully lifted him into his arms. Alfred had lost so much weight, too much weight. Arthur had never been able to lift him as easily as he could now, and it scared him. A quick glance at Alfred's outstretched arm made him sick. Dried blood, fresh blood, it didn't matter; it was plastered on his skin. The muscles had been torn and cut apart, his veins were fully exposed and the white of his bone shown through. Arthur had to wrench his eyes away, not wanting to twist his stomach around any further. He brought Alfred back to his bed, gently setting him down and covering him lightly with the blankets, soon realizing the blood that covered them, forcing him to remove them. As he walked out in search of clean blankets he could hear Alfred moaning from the bedroom.

When Arthur came back to the room, blankets in hand, Alfred hadn't moved and his eyes stared lazily forward, glazed over and tears pricking the end of eyes. Was he crying all the time like this? It wasn't right, not for Alfred. This couldn't be the boy Arthur had raised; he was supposed to be happy all the time, not crying like this, not tearing himself apart.

Arthur covered Alfred with the blankets, taking one last look at the tired, high, blond before he left the room and turned to leave. A tug at his clothes caused him to stop and look back at the teen. Alfred reached out with all his strength to take hold of Arthur's clothes, his shaky and sweaty hands slipping from the material.

"Alfred?" Arthur asked soothingly, taking hold of the hand that had stopped him.

Alfred's eyes widened and filled with tears that stung his eyes, "I-Iggy...? A-are y-you… really?" He bit his lip.

"Yes, Al, I'm really here." A soft smile passed over Arthur's lips.

"R-really…? Y-you're… R-really?" Tears slowly made their way down his cheeks, "B-but… I! Y-you! I almost k-killed-!"

"Hey…" Arthur said calmly, sitting himself on the bed beside Alfred and squeezing his hand just enough to comfort him, "None of that matters anymore, okay? All that matters is that I'm here now, and I'm not leaving you. Got it, Al?" Arthur smiled and moved their hair from Alfred's eyes, "Just try to get some sleep, okay?"

Alfred gave a light nod and Arthur sat and comforted him until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

_Alfred jumped off a table, landing right above Arthur and then slowly beginning to walk to his side. The other men in the room gazed on in horror, unable to move from shock. This man they called America killed one of his own senators and shot England! How could this be that same country that insisted on helping everyone?_

_When Alfred was at just the right spot, he kicked Arthur in the stomach with all his strength, sending him flying across to the other side of the room. Arthur hit the wall, hard, falling flat on his face as he reached the floor, shakily trying to make his way into a sitting position, but failing and falling back down again, coughing. Before Alfred could move to make any other sort of hit on him, some of the government officials ran after him, finally shaking themselves free from their shock and trying to stop him any way possible._

_One of the men grabbed hold on Alfred's arm, pulling it back and trying to keep him from moving. Alfred flicked his arm to the right, sending the man flying to the floor, hitting his head. The men gasped, some trying to help him, others attacking Alfred, though the gun in his hand shot all of them. Some died on impact, others only had flesh wounds and blood flew up onto Alfred's face every shot he made, causing him to laugh._

_Everyone in the room had been shot, and all those still alive were moaning from the pain, some just laying on the floor unable to stand, others struggling to get to their feet and then there were those who had only stumbled back and were trying to continue to attack him. One man moved in front of him, successfully grabbing hold of Alfred's hair and pulling his face closer to the ground._

"_What the bloody hell is your fucking problem? I thought you were supposed to be America, damn it! Not some insane shit case murderer!"_

"_Oh, you just shut up." Alfred growled evilly._

_His hand reached out to grab the chair beside him, quickly raising it above his head and without a second thought Alfred threw the chair down on the man in front of him, his grip tightening as he lifted the chair up again, the same routine over and over again. The same man, the same chair, only different blood flying up onto his face._

_After the first few hits the man fell to the floor, loosing grip on Alfred's hair and his strength fading from him. The more Alfred hit him, the more deformed he became, and soon, he lay on the floor, pools of blood forming beneath him and his face unrecognizable as even human._

_Once the man's blood was dripping all over him, Alfred looked up and grinned at the other paralyzed and wounded men. Quickly he grabbed a pen that was on the table beside him and ran full speed at one of the men in front of him, shoving the pen in their neck, twisting it around and watching the blood gush out and down their body, the blood __**covering **__Alfred's hands. He laughed the whole time, his eyes showing how crazy he really was right now._

_The person next to him now was trying to run away, limping as they drug their shot leg across the floor. Alfred jumped to attack the man, putting his arm tightly across his neck, strangling him slightly as he removed the man's tie. When the tie was in his hand he removed his arm, throwing the tie around the man's neck and placing his foot on his back. He shoved himself backwards, breaking the man's spine in half and the tie causing a few of his muscle's to rip, the skin by his upper back tearing._

_The next few people to be attacked got hit in the head with a clipboard, they were hit so hard it broke in half and the pieces were used to dig into another's flesh, staples shoved into ones back, face and chest, and scissors being stabbed into another's body and cutting through their skin. The blood in the room was unbelievable, the pools on the floor, the blood that soaked the victims clothes, that soaked Alfred's clothes, unbelievable._

_Alfred laughed when he looked around at the bodies spread out before him, "I haven't had so much fun in years!"_

"_What the hell, Alfred!" The only senator still alive yelled, holding himself up by the edge of the table, "What do you mean fun? How in God's name can you kill so many people without a second thought? Who the fuck are you?"_

_Alfred laughed at this comment, walking up to the man slowly and whispered in his ear, a slight southern accent rolling off his tongue, "I __**am**__ Alfred. The same Alfred that has always been."_

_He backed away and smiled, giggling as he did so. The man struggled to keep himself up, and as Alfred watched him something at the foot of the table caught his eye. A briefcase. He reached for it, the senator keeping his eye locked on him the whole time, and when he brought it back he held it up right below his face, still smiling._

"_See this?"_

_The man didn't respond._

"_This is what I'm going to kill you with!" Alfred said cheerfully, yet evilly in a way that made him sound like Ivan.  
_

_The senator tried backing up, sweat rolling down his face, but before he even had time to react Alfred whacked him in the face with it causing him to fall to the floor. Once, twice, three times he was hit, each time he could hear something popping in his face and by the third time he was flat on the floor, blood seeping it way up through his throat. Alfred knelt down and shoved his hand down the man's open mouth, suffocating him and causing him to choke on his own blood._

_Alfred began slowly standing up, his hand held out in front of him. He took a long look at it, grinning and giggling as beads of blood rolled down his arm in streams of red and brown, shimmering like glass. His grin grew wider as he looked down at the man beneath him. His jaw was broken in, blood spilled from his mouth, his eyes starred forward in horror, but his breath had only left him seconds ago._

Alfred's eyes shot open, his breath being suppressed by the weight upon his heart, and his body aching in agony. Memories! More memories! Please, let that have been the last of them! _Please_! He could follow the murders, he could follow the torture, and he remembered _everything_ he did to those men! Please let there be no more!

He had soaked himself in sweat, soaked his soul in mourning, burned his physical body in pain, clouded his mind with drugs, what else could he do to have it all go away? What else could he do? Tremors ran up and down his body as Alfred pulled his heavy self from the bed, dragging himself to the desk on the other side of the room. Upon reaching it he dug through the drawers in a panic, trying to find the one thing that would take the pain away, cloud his mind and make him forget. If only just for a while… If only just for a while… If only just for a little while…

After his shaky hands got a hold of a small rock and tossed it into a small empty trash bin that he grabbed and placed on top the desk, he dug through more drawers, soon pulling out a box of matches. He quickly lit one and threw it in the bin, throwing his head over it and listening to the noise of the rock cracking from the heat. Fumes rose and Alfred inhaled it many times over, soon the pain in his heart numbing and being replaced by a feeling that felt inhuman, as though everything was better again, as though there was, or never had been, any hurt. The feeling hypnotized him, keeping him in a daze, not noticing anything else.

"Alfred? What the bloody hell is that noi-!"

At that moment Arthur flung the door open, quickly realizing what the smell in the air was and threw his hand over his mouth and nose, running out of the room again to take a fresh breath. As quickly as he left he came back, rushing to open the window, screen and all, then yanked the bin which had the inside coated with fire and the outside in scorching heat, out from under Alfred, throwing it out the window. Alfred jolted up, lunging for the drug with outstretched arms, Arthur forced to hold him back by locking his arms around his shoulders. A loud scream came from Alfred's throat and tears burned his eyes as he watched the drug fall to the ground, trying to squirm his way out from Arthur's grip in order to save all he could, but Arthur held him back.

Arthur ripped him back, inside, throwing Alfred on the floor behind him, "Alfred! Get a hold of yourself!" He screamed, his face twisted in anger, "You don't need this bloody fucking shit! You don't need it! You will _never_ need it! How many other bloody drugs are you on? Pot? What? Are crack and heroin not enough for you?"

Alfred stared up at him with blank eyes, the fumes of the crack still taking an effect on him as his mind tried to wrap around what Arthur was saying. His gaze lazily fell to the floor, unable to concentrate on anything other than the glorious feeling he felt from the drug. Oh, how truly wonderful the feeling was, even if it didn't last forever, he could always do it again, right? Right…?

The glare that came from Arthur's eyes could kill, and even though Alfred wasn't looking at him he could feel the anger burning his soul.

"So, what is it, Alfred?" Arthur continued, yelling twice as loud, "What are you on? Was that all of it?"

Silence fell over the room for just a moment, the air cracked by a soft giggling coming from Alfred.

"Great." Arthur said, partly disgusted, "Now you're officially high… Thank you, Alfred. Thank you…"

"But, Igggggggggggy~!" Alfred laughed, tipping over, "It feels so good!"

"For now!" Arthur shouted, "But once you get off this high you'll be more distraught then ever! I don't understand why you're doing this to yourself!"

Alfred ignored him and continued to laugh, enjoying what he knew wouldn't last long. Letting out a long sigh Arthur brought his hand to his face, slowly letting it ride down to his chin. There was nothing he could do for Alfred if he was like this, the only thing he could do was go around and find all the hidden stashes of drugs and hope he got them all.

In time, Arthur found himself searching the house left and right for drugs, whenever finding one being sure to get rid of it. He had lived for over one thousand years, he was sure he had had enough experience with drugs, whether they be medieval or modern. After a while, Arthur had finished his search and went back to attempting to remove the blood stains from the floors and walls, which he had been doing before Alfred, woke up.

"I-Iggy?"

A small, weak voice came from the top of the staircase, causing Arthur to quickly turn around from the work he had been doing in the hall. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his pants had bloodstains on his knees, and cleaning supplies were scattered around.

"How are you feeling, Alfred?" Arthur asked with a soft smile.

"Depressed, what do you think?" Alfred huffed, sitting himself down on the top stair and examining his almost disintegrated arms.

"I wouldn't expect less." Arthur replied, beginning to make his way up the stairs towards Alfred, "Those drugs don't help you in the least, no matter how bad things hurt."

"I… I know… but…" Water coated Alfred's eyes as Arthur sat down next to him, placing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him closer.

"It's alright, I understand. We will work through this together."

"Hey..."

"Yes?"

"How... How long has it been... Since I... put you into a coma?"

Arthur looked down, "Almost a year, Alfred..."

Alfred froze. A year? A year? How could it be a year? How?

They sat in silence for a long while, Arthur's comforting arms giving Alfred a small since of peace as his mind raced through all the memories. No matter what he did, Arthur was always there. When he first woke from a coma Arthur was there to greet him. When he had first began to remember Arthur was there to comfort him. He was there even after he had killed all those people, he was there when he lost it at the world meeting, he was there when he had hurt himself, he was there even now after he had practically killed him, he was still here. Never once did he leave him; not once did he go back on his promise to be there for him. Not once, even after all he had done. Not once.

"Come on, Alfred." Arthur spoke up, lifting himself to his feet and stretching out a hand to his former colony, "Lets start fixing you up." A soft smile shown down at Alfred as he took his old caretakers hand and nodded, ready to try and fix things.

* * *

**I'm so sorry this took forever to get up. I've actually had it written out for over a month, this one and the next chapter. Sorry, I just realized that a lot of the exclamation points I have after my question marks go missing... Is this just an FF thing or can it be fixed? Cuz I really like my "?" being there.  
**

**Also, Im attempting to bring France back in... but don't blaim me if he doesnt have much of a roll at all... For some reason in this fic I can't think of anymore good places to place him other then where I have him. Besides, this is more of a fic for England and America anyways. ;D**


	15. Chapter 15

The next few weeks were agonizing. Alfred suffered from major withdrawals, Arthur doing all he could to make it less painful for him, the feelings still over powering. He could barely move, let alone walk, because of the things that were going on in his body from the lack of drugs. Arthur hated to see Alfred like this, and over the time of helping him recover Arthur found that he was beginning to blame himself for what had happened. Why hadn't he helped Alfred, the union, during the Civil War? What would have happened if he helped him get over the war? What if he had been there for him more often? Why had he been so selfish? Why couldn't he had seen something was wrong earlier? Why?

Quite often Alfred would begin to beg for the drugs, not wanting to go through this pain, but Arthur wouldn't give them back. He would never give them back, for Alfred's sake. Things were hard, Arthur had to take care of almost everything and Alfred couldn't help himself. He groaned in agony from the pain, just _wishing _it would go away, he had dealt with enough pain, he didn't want anymore, he didn't _need _anymore. After a long while Alfred was finally able to take care of himself somewhat, though he couldn't feel anything. He couldn't laugh, he couldn't smile, he couldn't feel… Happy…

Arthur had tried and tried to make him smile, doing things that weren't normally him, things he _knew _Alfred would have mocked him for for years if he was his normal, joyful self. Things such as attempting a southern accent(which failed miserably), purposefully doing magic that caused miniature explosions in his face, ect. But nothing worked and Alfred stayed more depressed than ever, sometimes letting himself go and crying his eyes out, whining things such as _'Why cant I be happy?', 'What is laughing, Iggy..?', _or _'I can't stand it!'. _There was nothing Arthur could do to help him like this, no matter what he tried, he just couldn't…

Fear fell over Alfred's heavy body as his heart began to pound its way out of his chest, his eyes wide open in horror. Sweat coated his skin and chills ran up and down his spine as he gasped for air, his mind unable to stop going over the horrific scenes that plagued his memories. Arthur thrown against the wall, a gun in his own hand that pulled the trigger over and over and over, his hand wrapped tightly around Arthur's neck, Arthur attempting to run but the continuous shooting stopping him, watching himself purposefully break Arthur's limps, pulling a knife out and mutilating Arthur's arms, pealing Arthur's fingernails off, more gun shots, watching Arthur struggle in attempt to break free, slamming Arthur's face against the table over and over again, Arthur's hands and face covered in blood, the sight of throwing his big brother in a pool in such condition…

Unable to scream Alfred leapt from the bed, his feet tripping over themselves as he scurried down the stairs and around the corner, loosing his grasp of the floor and slipping, quickly scrambling to his feet again. He ran straight for the bathroom, his body shaking uncontrollably and his eyes full of tears, only one thought racing through his head, "I killed Iggy!".

As soon as he was in the bathroom Alfred threw open the mirror cupboard, throwing bottle after bottle on the floor beneath him in a paniced search for any heroin that Arthur may have left. The fact the he had just gone threw withdrawals, or even the fact that Arthur had ever come out of a coma was no where to be found in his mind. Alfred memories were to focused on those that had just found their was back to him.

'_You killed Arthur.'_

'_Its all your fault.'_

The tears over flowed and streamed down Alfred's face as he searched and searched, his hands diving for any bottle they could find.

'If only you listened.'

Alfred's shaking hands grabbed hold of a bottle filled with white powder and he lifted it to his eyes, a glint of relief shinning in them. Sweat made his hands slippery as he opened the bottle, dumping out more than half of it into his hands and shoving it to his face, talking a long and desperate snort of the drug. As soon as he finished he moved his hands to his mouth, inhaling what was left and desperately licking the remnants on his hands.

'_This is all your fault.'_

'_**You **hurt Arthur.'_

'_Its all **your **fault.'_

Still anxious, Alfred quickly injected the last of the heroin into his blood stream, and then it hit. Alfred collapsed on the floor, a roaring thud shaking the house, and he slowly lifted his hands to his ears.

'No… No… No, no… No, no, no… No, no, no, no, no!"

His crying got stronger and Alfred could no longer keep himself quiet. He began to yell and scream and moan and whine and scream even more, unwilling to stop.

"Alfred! What the bloody hell is going on here?"

Arthur ran into the bathroom, as soon as he spotted Alfred his eyes filled with terror, rushing to the boys side, trying to help him anyway possible.

'_You never listen._

'_Its all your fault.'_

'_It will **always **be **your **fault.'_

"_No_!" Alfred screamed, hitting Arthur with the back of his hand and shoving himself up against the wall, gripping his ears tighter and shaking his head furiously.

Arthur noticed the heroin scattered around the room, "Good God, Alfred! You didn't!" He tried getting closer to Alfred a second time. This time trying to pry his hands off his ears.

'_You murdered people.'_

'_Its all your fault.'_

'_You murdered Arthur.'_

"Ahhhh!" Alfred's shrike echoed off the bathroom walls, the voice piercing Arthur's ears so heavily that he had to covered them.

"Alfred!" Arthur yelled, trying to get his brothers attention, "Alfred, listen to me!"

'_Hehe… You wont ever redeem yourself.'_

'_You're a killer.'_

'_You're **hated**.'_

"No, no, no!" Alfred screamed again, the sounds of the world around him fading as the voices became louder, soon becoming the only thing he heard. He couldn't even hear his own voice as he screamed at the top of his lungs. He hit Arthur yet again, not taking any notice that it was him and threw him up against the wall.

'Die, you fucking murderer!'

'Its all your fucking fault!'

'You don't deserve to live!'

Alfred screamed and screamed, the voices being the only thing he could hear and utter emptiness engulfed him completely, there were no emotions but absolute loneliness left. With his legs shaking horribly, Alfred attempted to make it to his feet, still crying and screaming, the voices getting stronger and stronger every second. A razor sat on a ledge inside the bathtub and Alfred lunged for it, taking it in both hands and holding it close to him as he fell back onto the ground. His hand shook ridiculously and his face had a look of fear on it as Arthur got himself together and noticed what Alfred was doing, his eyes wide with horror.

"Alfred, don't-!" Arthur screamed, his arm outstretched in attempted to grab him, but he was to late.

Within seconds Alfred had slit his own throat, and now he laid on the floor, his eyes still open, hand still clenching the razor and blood quickly seeping from his slit neck. Arthur was only able to stare back in shock, his arm still outstretched, trying to save his little brother from his actions, beginning to tremble at the sight. How did he let this happen? How?

Arthur forced himself closer, now staring down at Alfred's 'dead' face, tears beginning to swell up in his eyes as he removed the razor from Alfred hand. He took a long agonizing look at the wound Alfred has inflicted on himself, the blood soon reaching Arthur knees and seeping into his clothes. The feeling of his stomach turning as though he was going to vomit was becoming to strong and so were the tears. He hadn't wanted to cry so bad in years and soon he could no longer hold himself back.

Arthur fell back, his knees partly up in front of him and one of his hands holding up the rest of his body. The one free hand he had quickly was brought up to his mouth, covering it as he began to whine and the tears fell over the rims of his eyes like thik sheets of clear glass. His eyes were full of sorrow as he tried his best to keep himself from looking at Alfred, knowing every time he did his stomach knotted and his heart sunk deeper into himself.

"Alfred, I'm sorry." Arthur said to the body laying on the floor, his voice shaking and the tears making him almost unable to speak as he kept himself from screaming, "I am so, _so _sorry, Alfred! I'm s-sorry! I-I could have…. I could h-have… Alfred…"

By this time Arthur had set his back up on the wall and began weeping, one hand over an eye and the other over his mouth. The weeping soon turned to screaming and all of the things that Arthur had kept hidden in himself for Alfred, no only over the recent events, but over the course of history, had finally let themselves go. Memories of how him and Alfred used to be before the Revolution, the war, his faked bitterness towards his once colony to hide his sorrow, the pain he felt from wanting to love Alfred again, the guilt of leaving that room and allowing all this to happen…

Alfred had killed himself, and even though Arthur knew this wasn't the first time, he could have stopped it this time, and that was what tormented him the most.

* * *

Dark reds and browns blurred as Alfred slowly opened his eyes, squinting, trying to adjust to the light. His eyes burned and his throat hurt, his joint still and hard to move. After blinking multiple times the room came into focus. He was staring at a white ceiling and maroon walls where noticeable off on the side of his view. A wooden head board was above his head with intricately carved designs engraved into it, it looked as though it could have been hundreds of years old, from the 1600's perhaps.

Alfred slowly moved his head to the left, noticing a sharp pain shooting up though his neck and he winced, trying to ignore it. When his head was turned enough, the sight of Arthur kneeling at the side of the bed, book, or a book, placed in front of him, his head resting on the pages, caught his attention. Reading what he could see of the book, Alfred noticed what the book was.

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; whom shall I be afraid?

When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell…"

The Bible… How long had it been since either of them had picked that book up? He did still remember the book well, something that gave him strength before.

Alfred reached his hand out the best he could and polkaed it over one of Arthur's, wrapping his fingers tightly around Arthur's hand. With that Arthur began to open his eyes, noticing the extra weight on his hand which caused him to stir. When he was finally able to see what was going on around him, his eyes drifted to his hand, seeing Alfred's own placed on top of his. Almost automatically Arthur's eyes shot wide open, filling fully of tears as he jerked his head up to see Alfred's face.

Almost as soon as he saw him Arthur jumped up and threw his arms around the younger nation, his emotion getting the best of him as he began to week,. Alfred's eyes lit up in shock, not expecting this reaction from the man who always kept him compulsion. Was this man crying on his really Arthur? Arthur cried and cried, his arms holding Alfred close to him, not wanting to let go, and they stayed like that for what seemed like forever, Alfred just letting him cry.

"I-Iggy?" Alfred finally spoke up, but his next words were cut off by a quick shove buy Arthur, who now looked him straight in the eyes, still crying, and his hands tightly gripping the teens shoulders.

"Don't you _ever _do that again!" He screamed, his voices harsh, but still the sound of relief echoed from his words, "_Ever_! I was so-! I! I!" He let out a groan and then pulled Alfred closed again, "I am _so _sorry! Please, _please _forgive me! I could have-! B-but I-! I am so, so sorry!"

Alfred was about to give Arthur back the hug to tell him _'Its okay, I'm alright.' _but just as he brought his arms up, ready to place his hands on Arthur's back and pull him just a little closer -

'_He's only pretending to cry.'_

'_He isn't worried about you.'_

'_He never even cared you 'killed' yourself.'_

"I-Iggy!" Alfred yelled, his voice shaking in fear as he slammed his hands down hard on Arthur's back, gripping tightly to the material of his shirt.

Arthur's crying stopped almost automatically and his eyes shot open. Something wasn't right if Alfred slammed his hands on his back that hard and now he wasn't letting go?

"Alfred? What happened?" Arthur asked, his voice full of concern, "What is wrong?"

'_He doesn't care.'_

'_Don't listen to him.'_

'_He wont help you.'_

Alfred let out a scream and pulled Arthur in tighter, tears beginning to flow from his eyes, "It's not true, its _not _true!"

Arthur removed his arms from around the dirty blond and tried to grab a hold of his shoulders, "Alfred listen to me."

'_This is all your fault, isn't it?'_

'_Its all your fault that he hates you.'_

'_Because of you he cant be trusted.'_

"No, no, no, no, no!" Alfred's face twisted in fear and sorrow, his eyes bleeding tears as he shook his head, "It's lying! Its lying!"

"Alfred," Arthur spoke calmly, his voice almost as if it was music, "listen to me." He placed both his hands on the sides of Alfred face, holding his head still, "You have to stand up to it. You have to."

'_Its all your fault those people were hurt.'_

'_Its all your fault Arthur was in a coma.'_

'_Its your fault for everything.'_

"I cant!" Alfred screamed, placing his own hands over Arthur's, "I cant! I cant do it!"

"Yes, you can." Arthur reassured, that smile that had always comforted Alfred staring back at him, "You're the only one that can."

As Arthur spoke the voice played louder and louder in Alfred's head, _'Its all your fault', 'You never listen', 'You're a killer', 'You're hated', 'You're useless', 'No one would care if you were dead'_. These things were chanted over and over and over as Arthur spoke.

"I can not help you anymore than I have, Alfred. _You _have to put an end to it, no one else can. Its not some exterior force that can be killed by man-made weapons or tools. Its and interior force, in here," He pointed to Alfred's forehead, "in _your _head. So you have to concentrate and find it, wherever it may be in your mind."

"I _can't_!" Alfred shrieked, shutting his eyes closed tight and letting the tears flow, his teeth clenched in fear as he threw his arms around Arthur's neck once more, showing no signs of letting go, "Its impossible! Its impossible! I cant!"

Arthur put his hands on Alfred's back, rubbing slightly to comfort him. He let him cry, he wasn't going to force Alfred to do something he wasn't ready for, something he didn't know how to handle. After a while Arthur spoke up again.

"You know…" Arthur began softly through Alfred's sobs, "There is this boy, no, a man I know who had more than once done that impossible. He found the key source of power, a power that would be used for year to come. Without him how long might it have been till the world gained the knowledge of electricity? He had been the first to ever claim independence from a more powerful monarch, something in which had seemed so impossible and ridiculous that the leaders of that monarchy laughed at it up until they lost the war. There had been a time when the navy of who he fought again, on of the most powerful navy's in the world at the time, came strongly against him, and yet his small navy of peasants had managed to tear them down and defeat them.

He had been the first to bring back democracy as a form of government since the ancient Greeks had used it, creating a constitution that had lasted over two hundred years. Who else has been able to do such things, having a constitution that has lasted that long has only been done by him, everyone soon following after him. And how many people had tried to create a flying machine and failed until he came along? Many, many people all around the world, but he did the _impossible_, creating the airplane and allowing us all to fly just like we had only dreamed of before. And just recently I remember this man going on and on about how he would beat the Russians, that he would show them who was better, and the space race of the 1960's couldn't have been anymore of an impossible success than it was for him. Creating a rocket to the moon, landing the first humans on its surface, planting _his _flag on its face. If that hadn't been impossible, then I don't know what is."

Alfred's crying had died down to whimpers by now and Arthur continued, "Alfred, if you haven't done the impossible, then I do not know who has. You out of all people have done so many impossible things in such a short amount of time. You've done more things than I can even name off. You, if not anyone else, can do the impossible, and I _know _you can do this, when you're ready."

For a minute they sat in silence, nothing but Alfred's whimpers being heard, though suddenly Alfred tensed up, digging his fingers into the cloth of Arthur's shirt again, "Iggy, keep talking! Keep talking!" His tears became stronger and his words were mixed with his crying, "When y-you're not t-talking the voices get l-louder! Please! Keep talking!"

Arthur moved his hand to Alfred's hair, rubbing the back of his head comfortingly and held him closer, kissing his head lightly then laying his cheek down. He closed his eyes and held Alfred tight, his instinct as an older brother and father taking over, and just like he had done the first night this happened, he sung to him softly.

"Hush now baby don't you cry  
Rest your wings my butterfly  
Peace will come to you in time  
And I will sing this lullaby

Know though I must leave, my child  
That I would stay here by your side  
And if you wake before I'm gone  
Remember this sweet lullaby"

As Arthur sung, the door was slightly open and Francis gazed in, stopping himself from asking Arthur the question in which he originally intended when he saw Arthur holding Alfred and singing. He watched for a minute, letting a soft smile fall upon his lips. Arthur's voice was beautiful, able to comfort even Francis who only silently listened, and no matter what Arthur said or acted like, he could never let Alfred go, he cared for him more than he even realized. Francis quietly left the room, not disturbing the two. Arthur continued to sing a while longer, waiting until Alfred fell asleep.

"And all love through darkness  
Don't you ever stop believing  
With love forlorn  
With love you'll find your way  
My love

The world has turned the day to dark  
I leave this night with heavy heart  
When I return to dry your eyes  
I will sing this lullaby

Yes I will sing this lullaby"

In time the soft singing of his older brother distracted Alfred from the voices, lulling him to sleep. Being sure he was peacefully asleep, Arthur lifted Alfred's skinny body, still fragile and weak, into his arms, shifting him so that he would be able to sleep comfortably in the bed again. As he set Alfred down and began covering him with the blankets Francis peeked his head in through the crack in the door made by silently opening it. Small flickers of light shown through and landed on the nightstand which stood a few inches from Arthur.

Seeing the light Arthur turned around, an expression painted on his face in which Francis wasn't expecting, a small state of shock passing through him. Arthur's eyes showed tears that dared not roll down his face, the water visible at the edges of his eyes as the light danced off its invisible surface. The emotion he held was clearly stated, even if not said, through the tears and sorrow those same eyes shown with, and the frown which he held back twitched at the edges of his mouth.

"What do you want, frog?" Arthur said, a forced tone of disgust ringing off his words.

"Angelterre," France said, opening the door enough to let himself in, "How is he?"

Arthur let out a sigh and bent down to puck up the bible which had fallen to the floor earlier, stood back up and dusted it off with his hand, staring at its cover, "He is… still having a hard time." He set the bible down on the nightstand and slowly moved his hand from it, staring at the floor in despair, "I'm… I'm not sure how to help him anymore. I can't fix this… I thought I could, but…"

Francis could see how much this was tearing Arthur a part, the sound of his voice said all he needed to know, let alone the tears that were noticeably getting harder to hold back. Arthur brought a hand to one of his eyes, rubbing it as he kept himself from crying. A sudden touch to his shoulder made him jolt, lifting his head to see Francis, the expression on his face one of the most sincere and caring Arthur had seen in years.  
"Angelterre, you are doing all you can, Les choses deviennent meilleurs."

Arthur looked away , his face to the side as he looked at Alfred from the corner of his eye. The tears were getting harder and harder to surpress, but he couldn't hide them frown which replaced them so he brought a hand to his mouth, hiding that which could not be hid. His other hand was brought up to his elbow, holding his arm in place as it rested in midair.

He wouldn't let himself cry, not in front of Francis, but he soon gave in, letting the tears roll down his face. Arthur covered his eyes with the dame hand that had been over his mouth, keeping at least his eyes hidden if not anything else. The only thing Francis knew to do was wait until Arthur finished, he wanted him to get this all out, it had obviously been bottled up within him for a long, long time.

Arthur cried for a few minutes, soon sitting himself down on the bed, rubbing his eyes trying to clear away the tears.

"Francis?" Arthur asked, looking towards Alfred's motionless body, "Do you…" He hesitated, brining his hand up to Alfred's face, "Know what its like… To know exactly what wrong…" He paused again, moving the hair from Alfred's eyes, "And not be able to do a bloody thing to help?" He brought his elbow back to his knee and leaned his cheek on his hand, "I _know _what's wrong, but I cant do one damned thing! I haven't been able to help at all! Not at bloody all! What can't I do bloody shit about this? I'm the only one who knows what's going-"

"How do you know?"

The interruption from Francis made Arthur jump. Francis stared hard at him, one of the most serious expressions one had ever seen on him. Arthur looked up at him, his eyes full of surprise and shock, he wasn't expecting Francis to as a question.

"H-how?" Arthur stuttered then looked down at his feet, "The reason that thing attacked, killed me, well, tortured me first and then killed me, was because I tried to tell Alfred what was going on… Do you remember back in 1862 when Alfred asked us to fight on the side of the confederacy during his Civil War?"

"Oui."

"That wasn't Alfred. Alfred was the union, but the Confederacy was someone else, someone who had been a part of Alfred, and that's the same person who's causing all of this to happen."

"But how do you know that's true?"

"Because he bloody told me!" Arthur yelled, quickly trying to compose himself again, "Before he attacked me, he told me everything, or at least corrected me on what I had wrong at first. I know for a _fact _this is the confederacy, _you _didn't talk to him like I did."

Francis nodded, showing he understood and believed him. For a few more minutes and awkward silence grew between them, Arthur looking back to his younger brother for a long while.

"Francis…" Arthur spoke up softly, "I know that I usually would not ask such a thing… But… I need your help…"

Francis raised an eyebrow, soon shaking his head and looking back up, "Of course, veil ami. I'll do everything I can."

* * *

**This is again, an unbeta'd version. The beta'd version should be up soon, so sorry for the grammar and spelling errors. :'D I kinda uploaded this before I read it over.(On a trip, so its kinda hectic for me atm)**

**Anyways, this fanfic IS finished, and from now I will upload again weekly. Also, for those of you who like this fic, I am doing a sequel for it for sure. (I'm actually already working on it) Though it wont be focusing on the Confederacy or Alfred, this time it will be Arthur. :)**


	16. Chapter 16

When Alfred awoke the next morning he took a few moments to realize what all had happened and where he was. At first he didn't recognize the room, but when his brain finally started functioning it clicked. He was in England, in Arthur's house and in Arthur's bedroom. Why was he in Arthur's bedroom? He hated him coming in here. Maybe it was because of what all was going on; he remembered Arthur didn't seem to care at all the night before.

As Alfred made his way out of the bed, he realized how truly weak his body still was. He could barely stand because his legs couldn't hold his own weight (which was even less that his usual weight), his arms burned like crazy whenever they rubbed against anything or he tried to use them, and his head was spinning so fast it was making him sick. As best he could he made his way out of the room, stumbling as he went and tipping to the side. Eventually he was able to make it to the staircase down the hall, but as soon as he reached it his legs gave out on him completely and he grabbed hold of the railing as tight as possible, almost ready just to let himself fall because he was so tired.

"Alfred!" A scared shout came from down the stairs, Arthur appearing quickly and running up to him, "Be careful! Are you alright?"

Arthur held his arms out, Alfred able to read his intentions and let go of the railing. In a split second Arthur caught the boy's weak body, holding him up with his strength. Even if Alfred had wanted to hold himself up in the first place, he was unable to; the past few minutes had been enough proof of that.

As Alfred let his limp body rest in his older brother's arms he closed his eyes, resting peacefully while the sound of Arthur's heartbeat played in his ears. Arthur's heartbeat… Had before the Revolution been the last time he had heard it? The sound was calming and soothing, bringing back memories in which he had tried to forget many years ago. A smile. A hand. A hug. A kiss. Sweet memories, though no matter how sweet they started, the taste became sour. He wondered endlessly if the memories had the same effect on Arthur.

Silently Arthur placed a hand under Alfred's knees, lifting him up into his arms completely. He tried his best not to disturb him, knowing well that Alfred needed his rest, and began his stride down the stairs. When he reached the kitchen he set Alfred down gently in one of the dinning room chairs, turning back around to 'shush' Francis who was cooking. Francis gave a grin back to him, one that said _"Sorry! I didn't notice!" _and was back off to his cooking.

The food smelled delicious, but it would have to wait for right now, Arthur had to take care of Alfred. He rummaged through his medicine drawers as Alfred lazily watched him, unwilling to move even in the slightest. In a few moments Arthur came back, bandages, antibiotics, towels, all that good stuff in hand and set them on the table in front of him.

"Here we go!" Arthur said cheerfully, standing back and looking down at the items with his hands placed on his hips. "Now all we have to do is replace the old ones on your arms."

Alfred didn't say a word; he only nodded in response just wanting to get things over with, He was tired of this fame his mind kept playing on him; he was tired and just wanted it to end. It only took Arthur a few minutes to unwrap the old, bloody bandages then he threw them away as the two sat in silence. Arthur wanted to say something; he just wasn't sure what would be the best for the situation.

Alfred cringed every so often as the antibiotic was rubbed onto his closing wound, but soon the bandages were rewrapped around his arms and the slight pain was over with. Arthur stood back up, smiling softly at the boy.

"I don't know how to fix everything, Alfred," Arthur began, his voice somehow encouraging, "but I do know that everything _will _be fixed."

Alfred only moved his eyes to look up at Arthur's face, taking a glance and looking back down, "Iggy…" He began slowly, "I… I want… I want to be able to smile again… And I…. I want to be able to be a hero again… But I … But I…"

Arms wrapped themselves around Alfred's neck as he was drawn closer, one of the hands pulling his head in. Arthur was on his knees, his eyes shut, holding Alfred close to him, comforting him.

"Everything will be fine. It will all work out. I promise."

Alfred let himself rest in Arthur's arms not knowing what else to do, "Okay…" He said, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of Arthur's body cover him.

For the rest of the day Alfred dozed off to sleep ever so often as he rested on Arthur living room sofa watching TV. Francis scurried in and out of the house with bags full of items that would apparently help Alfred recover sooner and Arthur did his usual cleaning of his house, checking up on Alfred everyone in a while. The things Francis bought went to good use whenever Arthur checked in on the weak American, making him drink things and swallow pills to try and help him.

After a few days Alfred was up on his feet, if only just for a little while. He was slowly getting better physically, but his mental state still had its issues. At times Alfred would burst into tears, covering his ears with his hands, or a pillow, or something he might have found to do the job, and he would scream to try and drown out the voice in his head. Whenever Arthur was around he would do his best to calm Alfred down again, most of the time by holding him and talking to the boy. When Arthur wasn't there it was left up to Francis who had a lot more trouble fixing the problem, but eventually everything worked out.

Other times Alfred would just stare off into space and not say anything, not even respond to anyone. This was something neither Arthur nor Francis knew how to help with, so they just let him be, and hopped he would be able to get over it himself. In time Alfred was able to help himself, and other times help was needed. His strength came back to him slowly and loud noises tended to frighten him, but the comfort that came from Arthur reassured him that everything would be fine, and in time he began to believe it would.

He hated feeling this way, hated feeling like he was going to hurt someone all the time, feeling like everyone hated him. But if he made the effort to try, to begin to fix things himself, not only looking to Arthur, he could surpass this. Overcome this, what ever it was.

"Alfred," Arthur said, looking into the living room where Alfred sat on the sofa beginning to get ready for bed, "Do you want to go to the guest bedroom tonight?"

Alfred had been sleeping on the sofa for the past few days and Arthur had been sleeping with his door open rather than closed like usual in case Alfred woke up in the middle of the night due to the Confederacy giving him nightmares. Of course, Alfred still had no idea it was the Confederacy, but Arthur knew all too well and did his best to keep him from hurting Alfred.

"What?" Alfred looked up, his dark, tired eyes staring up at the Englishmen in wonder, "Isn't Francis sleeping there?"

Francis, who was listening in on the conversation from the top of the stairs let out one of his ridiculously French laughs, "That I am, mon ami, but that doesn't mean that I can not let you sleep there now. Besides," He made a glamorous stride down the stairs, ending up standing right next to Arthur and leaning his arm on the younger blond's shoulder, "I can always just go sleep with Angleterre!"

Arthur's eyes narrowed almost automatically, his arm elbowing Francis hard enough that he fell to the floor, rubbing his side. Pointing to the man on the ground Arthur still stared forward, not taking the time to look at the stupid Frenchmen, words rolled off his tongue as though they were venom, poisonous enough to kill.

"Don't you bloody _dare _think about it, frog. I would never sleep in the same bed as you or your gay arse!"

Francis let out a gasp, tears at the edges of his eyes, "That's harsh Angleterre! How could you say such a horrible thing?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and looked back to Alfred who was giggling at this spiel of stupid bickering. A smile passed on Arthur's face seeing the sight in which he hadn't in a long, long time. Finally, Alfred had laughed, if only just a little, even if it was at one of the ever so common fights with Francis.

"Well, Alfred," Arthur continued, "You can sleep in the guest bedroom tonight if you are up for it."

Alfred nodded and smiled slightly, "I'm fine with that."

With that Francis cleared off and cleaned the guest bed so it would be clean for Alfred to sleep on, and moved down to the sofa where he would sleep. Arthur got ready for bed himself and helped Alfred as much he could, though it wasn't nearly as much as he had to a few days ago. After a while all of them were sleeping peacefully in Arthur's huge, old house, or at least they had thought everyone was sleeping.

A slight thunderstorm could be heard coming off in the distance and the soft rumbling kept Alfred wide-awake. He hadn't been scared of thunderstorms since he was a child, never had he been scared since then, ever, but now was different. He could feel the fear creeping up on him, but it wasn't just a fear of the sound, nor the light, nor the rain. It was a fear of those voices coming back, or the fear that he would end up hurting someone again. Those fears. For some reason, the noises enhanced them; no matter what noise, if it was loud it horrified him.

The storm got closer and closer, and every minute the thunder got louder as the rain pounded harder against the roof. The pitter pat of the rain had changed to large droplets of water slamming into the hard rooftop, making the noise even louder, and causing Alfred to cower under the blankets of the bed. God, why was he so scared? God, why?

As the thunder rumbled through out the sky, Alfred made his best effort not to cry, not to scream, not to wake the others and cause them more issues. He didn't want them to worry about him; he didn't want them to… The more he tried to stay quiet, the more sweat dripped down his face, the harder he pressed himself up against the bed, the longer he tried to not wake them, the harder it got.

He focused on being quite, the fear the thunder placed on him making it almost impossible and in within seconds a scream emerged from his throat, tears rolling down his face. The fear was too much! He couldn't take it! He was too scared! He couldn't not be scared of this, he couldn't! Finally after a long debate with himself about what he should do, Alfred decided he would make an attempt to go get Arthur, even if he hadn't want to bother him before. It was just too much now, he didn't know what else to do.

Taking a moment to decide if he really should go to Arthur, Alfred finally jumped up from his bed, and with quick feet, threw the bedroom door open and ran across the hall, feeling as though someone was chasing him due to the fear that followed him. His bare feet hit the cold wooden floors hard, and the door to Arthur's room was torn open and slammed behind Alfred as he made his way in as fast as he could. As soon as the door was close Alfred dashed even faster across the hard wood floors of the room to Arthur's bed, making a dive for it and bursting out in tears as his body collided with blankets.

"Iggy!" Alfred screamed, tears flowing down his face as he clung to the blankets, "Iggy! I-"

A crash of thunder echoed off the walls of the room, Alfred screaming in effect.

"Iggy!" Alfred screamed through the thunder, falling to the ground and covering his ears, "Make it stop! Make it stop!"

"Alfred?" Arthur shouted, jumping to sit up from the shock of having the boy dive onto his bed like that and then scream as loud as possible, staring down at the younger blond who was crying on the floor, "Alfred what the bloody hell is wrong?"

Another crash of thunder, another terrified scream, more tears.

"Make it s-stop!" Alfred sobbed, "Make the noise stop!"

Arthur stared at him in surprise. Shaking it off and realizing what was happening, Arthur sat up completely and moved to the edge of the bed, sitting on his knees and looking down at Alfred.

"Alfred, get up and come here." He said lightly, motioning Alfred to sit on the bed.

When Alfred looked up, tears still streaming down his face, he jumped up from the floor and threw himself on the bed, curling his legs in close to his body and throwing his head down on Arthur's thigh, his hands grasping the lose clothing tightly as tears stained the fabric. Arthur stroked his hair lightly and shushed him softly, trying to calm him down if only a little, but every time the thunder would strike again Alfred's crying would only get harder.

"Alfred," Arthur finally said softly, "you need to stop crying and over come this. The thunder will not hurt you."

Alfred shook his head, "No! I can't!"

"Yes, you can, all you have to do is try, and by trying you can eventually succeed."

Arthur smiled, "Do not tell me no."

"But I-"

"Sit up." Arthur demanded.

Alfred attempted so, but the thunder would crash and cause him to all back down again. After a few tries Alfred was finally able to sit up, his hands sweating and clutching the blankets tightly as he cringed at the sound echoing off the walls. Slight squeaks of fear were heard clearly from the dirty blond as he tried his best not to scream. He was hunched over, not really sitting up straight, but the excuse he made to himself was that it was impossible and that he was too scared.

"Come on, Alfred." Arthur said, lifting his shoulders and sitting up tall and puffing out his chest, "Up straight! Be strong! Stand up to it!"

Alfred bit his quivering lip, tightly closing his eyes and attempting to sit up farther, jerking back down a little every time the thunder rumbled. In time he had sat up totally, his back straight and his chest out, but at times he would let himself down, Arthur reminding him to keep sitting up tall. After a few minutes, Alfred took a deep breath, his trembling beginning to die down as he let the breath go, and then opened his eyes.

"How does that feel?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Better…" Alfred said, staring down at the floor that would flicker with the flashes of lighting, "It's not as scary anymore at least…"

"See?" Arthur placed his hand on Alfred's, "All you had to do was stand up to it."

He smiled and Alfred nodded in response, swallowing slightly as another loud burst of thunder was set off.

"Alfred," Arthur's voice softened, "standing up to this fear you had is just the same way you would stand up to anything else. A hero stands up to his fears and is brave, right?" Alfred nodded again, listening intently to his words as small tears began to form at the edges of his eyes again, "You need to be that hero now, but this time to save yourself. Stand up against that thing inside you, understand? Find some way to bring it down, like a hero does. You're the hero, Alfred, so finish this as a hero would. Finish strong."

As Arthur finished, Alfred rubbed his eyes, wiping the tears away, and nodded. "Be the hero. I can do that." Alfred laughed slightly, but it wasn't real, nor did he believe what he had just said, and Arthur could see it in his eyes.

Noticing the lie, Arthur closed his eyes, opening them again a few seconds later and moving to wrap his arms around Alfred's head, pulling the young man close to him, "Alfred, you can do just that. I _know _you can and I _believe _you can. So please, be the hero for me; be the hero and save yourself."

As the last few words came out, Arthur's voice cracked slightly as he tried his best to hold back his tears, he wouldn't cry. Alfred had done enough of it already; he didn't need to see him crying as well. Alfred slowly returned the hug, and grunted a weak 'mhm'. When they finally let go of each other, Alfred looked back to the ground and didn't say a word.

"Well, Alfred," Arthur began after a few minutes, "I think it's time we'd both be getting back to sleep."

Alfred looked up at him and nodded as he watched Arthur crawl back under the blankets of the bed. He looked back down again and sat on the edge of the bed for a few more minutes before Arthur spoke up again.

"Alfred? Is anything wrong?"

Alfred slowly turned and looked at him, "Iggy...?"

Arthur sat up again and raised and eyebrow, "Yes?"

"I… I know…" His eyes flashed back and forth between the floor and Arthur's eyes as his hands clutched tighter onto the blankets, "I know I haven't asked something like this… In years… B-but… C-can I… Can I sleep with you t-tonight?"

Arthur blinked a few times, before he shook his head quickly and looked back up at Alfred and smiled softly, "Sure, Al. Of course."

Even if the voice was older, deeper and more mature, it still sounded exactly the same as the times when Alfred had asked to sleep with him when he was a little boy. Just the same. The same uncertainty and curiosity, the same shyness and quietness, the same love. The same Alfred, the same little boy Arthur had raised, just all grown up. The same Alfred.

Alfred slowly crawled into the bed, covering himself with the blankets as Arthur scooted to what would be his side of the bed for the night. After a few minutes the two were settled, or at least Arthur thought so since he was on the verge of falling asleep, but the bed shifted slightly and he felt an arm wrap around his own, the heat of another body so close to him he could feel it without them touching. Knowing it was Alfred, he looked over, seeing that Alfred had brought himself close to him, almost touching but still keeping a slight distance, only holding tightly to the Brit's arm.

A smile passed over his lips, and then Alfred yanked him slightly closer, obviously not meaning to and probably thinking he was moving himself over, and then placed his head on Arthur's shoulder, cuddling in close to him.

"I miss you, Iggy…"

The soft whisper caught Arthur off guard, almost having missed it. Alfred… Missed him? Why? How? How could he miss him? How? Arthur didn't understand, and so deep in his thoughts he almost didn't notice Alfred began whispering again.

"I miss you so much… Even if y-you… Never miss me… I miss you… I love you, Iggy… And I miss you so much…"

Arthur stared a moment at the American who was holding tightly to his arm, trying to process what he had just said. He never thought Alfred missed him. Ever. But now that he knew this, he was going to try and change it. Shifting himself, Arthur turned over and placed his free arm around Alfred's head and pulled him closer, closing the gap Alfred had left between them. Alfred's eyes widened in surprise as he felt Arthur get closer.

"I love you too, Alfred." Arthur said, whispering just as lightly as Alfred had, "And I miss you just as much, if not more. I love you."

* * *

**Here is chapter 16 for you! Not much else to say besides the fact that I have yet another fanfic idea... I really need to stop getting these and stick with one for a while! I haven't even had inspiration to write more of tHFH... D: I should do that... Anyways! *skips off***


	17. Chapter 17

When morning came around Alfred found himself alone in Arthur's bed, looking around figuring Arthur had already woken up. He made his way back down stairs, rubbing his eyes as he tried to remove the blur from his vision from first waking up. As Alfred made it to the first floor, he noticed Arthur standing next to the front door, Francis having some sort of conversation with him from the sofa. Both looked at him when they saw him come down the stairs, their conversation on hold till further notice.

"Good morning, Alfred." Francis said, smiling.

"Yeah." Alfred responded, nodding and still rubbing his eyes, "What's up?"

"Hem…" Francis tilted his head to the ceiling, "Nothing really."

"We were just discussing what was going on today." Arthur interjected.

Alfred tilted his head, "And that would be?" He then began walking into the kitchen.

"We're going to go out around town." Arthur followed, stopping when he reached the kitchen doorway, "Not really sure what we'll do but hopefully this will get your mind off everything. You need a break."

Alfred had started to take down materials to make himself a fast breakfast from the cupboards, "Oh, yeah that _would _be nice. So, when we leaving?"

"Soon, most likely. After you're done eating fine by you?"

"Yup!" Alfred turned around and bought his cereal with him, walking out into the middle of the kitchen about to turn to the dinning room.

"Oh!" Arthur shouted, realizing something he must have forgotten, "Alfred, I have something for you! Wait here." He waved his hand to Alfred as he turned around and ran off to his office room, both Francis and Alfred staring at him wondering what was up.

"You know what that's about?" Alfred asked. Francis shook his head.

Alfred stuck out his lip, deciding to set down his cereal and wait for Arthur to come back, and as he waited he ate. Within about two minutes Arthur was back, holding something behind his back.

"Alfred, hold out your hands and close your eyes." He said, smiling slightly.

Alfred stared for a few seconds, absolutely confused by this, but he did as Arthur said and close his eyes, putting both his hands together and held them out in front of him. He felt something plop down into the palms of his hands, unable to make out what it was with his eyes closed. Arthur wouldn't let him open his eyes for at least five more seconds, and it was annoying Alfred that he didn't get to know what it was right away. Seconds become very long when waiting for something.

"Okay, you can open them now." Arthur said, obviously quite happy about something.

Alfred slowly opened his eyes and look down at his hands, taking hold of the object in them as soon as he could make it out, "Texas!" He exclaimed excitedly, twirling a bit on his heel, "I can't believe I forgot about them! Iggy, where did you find them?" A huge grin was now plastered onto his face as he turned to look at Arthur.

Arthur smiled proudly, "You left them on your kitchen counter in your house in Alaska. I found them and got them cleaned for you, I didn't think you would want to wear glasses that were all bloody."

All Alfred could do was put his glasses on and smile, unable to speak words of joy for having them back. In the next few minutes Alfred finished eating, still excited to have his glasses back, and set off to get ready to go, showering, getting dressed and such. Within about ten minutes Alfred was ready to go, and Arthur and Francis waited next to the door for him to get on his shoes.

"Ready?" Francis asked, hand on the doorknob, practically ready to jump out the door.

"Yup, yup, give me a few seconds!" Alfred said, standing on one leg attempting to put on his shoe, "Let me put this on!"

Arthur rolled his eye then looked to Francis, "Francis, would you mind waiting outside for a while? I need to talk to Alfred privately before we leave."

Francis cocked his head a bit, "Oh? *Bien Alors."

"Thank you." Arthur nodded as he watch Francis walk out, turning back to Alfred who had just finished putting on his shoes and now stood looking at Arthur, "Alfred, I need you to promise me something." Alfred raised an eyebrow, "I need you to promise that if _anything _happens while we're out, anything at all, even if its just the voices, _promise _you will stand up to it and be the hero. Promise me that, _please_."

Alfred looked down at his feet, "I… I can't promise that, Iggy…"

"W-what?" Arthur looked shocked, "Why?"

"I… Don't think I can… Stand up to it… I don't… I don't know how…"

Arthur sighed, "Okay, Al. Can you promise me something else then?"

Alfred looked back up and cocked his head, "Yeah?"

"That you'll at least try. That you'll try for me, okay?" A smile passed over Arthur's lips.

"Alright." Alfred smiled back uneasily, "I can do that."

Arthur's smile was still there as he turned around the opened the door, "Then lets go."

Through out the day all three of them had quite a decent time. They went around different parts of town, stealing a seat at the nearby movie theater, and Alfred of course being the one to pick the movie they went to see. After that Arthur remembered something about a fair that was in town, Alfred getting decently excited after hearing about it so Arthur and Francis both were dragged to it. Luckily they had plenty of money with them, meaning the time spent there was good rather than frugal.

After the fair all three of them were decently tired, practically ready to go back to Arthur's house and stay there for the rest of the day, though Arthur said he had one more place he wished to go in town.

"Oh? And where would that be Angleterre?" Francis asked, partly annoyed.

"The drycleaners." Arthur replied dryly, continue to walk in the direction of the building he needed.

"Drycleaners?" Alfred asked, catching up with him and sticking his neck out in front of the shorter country to look at him, "Why do you need that?"

"I dropped some clothes off a while ago, why else?" Arthur rolled his eyes, "Now, shut up and come with me or else go home."

The two agreed to come with him, Francis not to please of course but he did so anyways. As they walked to the drycleaners, Alfred and Arthur had a decent chat, starting to get back into their usual conversations where Alfred would accidentally insult him and Arthur would snap back. Of course after Francis butted in things got worse as Arthur and him started fighting, Alfred basically staying out of it, he wasn't ready to start in on one of these even if he did feel better. Just not _quite _good enough to start in on that giant mess.

When they finally reached the building, Arthur walked in as normal, Alfred following behind him. Francis on the other hand, he _had _gone inside, but like usual he got caught up in a flirtatious conversation with one of the women in the cleaners, completely ignoring what Arthur was doing. Not caring what the wanker did, Arthur let him be and went up to the counter, doing the business he needed to get his clothes as Alfred waited next to him.

In a few minutes the man working brought out Arthur's clothes and handed them to him covered in a dark covering. Arthur told the man thank you and walked slightly off to the side, sighing and waiting a few seconds before Alfred asked what he was doing.

"Dude, what's up? You got your clothes, can we go now then?"

"No." Arthur said sternly.

"Why?"

Arthur sighed again, "This is why." He started to remove the plastic off the piece of clothing he had just gotten back, Alfred's eyes widening when he figured out what it was.

Pointing a finger and somewhat jumping back Alfred began stuttering, his voice full of surprise and happiness, "M-my j-jacket! I-Iggy! Where- How- When?"

Arthur grinned, "Just how I found your glasses. Did you really think I was going to leave you jacket back in that house to mold with blood? I know how much you love this thing, you've had it since World War Two."

All Alfred could do was smile, and that smile kept growing just as his eyes kept filling with obvious joy. Handing him the jacket, Arthur watched as Alfred put it on for the first time in almost a year. Man, was Alfred happy. That jacket was almost as precious to him as those toy soldiers Arthur had made for him years ago, but now those toy soldiers had been destroyed, still, they were special. Putting each hand through the jacket sleeves, Alfred would examine the jacket with great intent, the joy in his eyes growing every second. He really was happy, miraculously happy.

Once his arms were through the sleeves Alfred did somewhat of a jump, straightening the front of the jacket and reaching for the zipper, even though he normally didn't zip the jacket up, for some reason he felt like doing it this time. He examined the front of the jacket and wiped off the invisible dust, shoving his hands into his pockets.

A huge grin shown down at Arthur, "Thank you so much, Iggy! This is absolutely amazing! Best. Gift. Ever!"

Arthur let out a laugh, "Well, I'm glad I was able to save it for you. You're welcome." They both began walking out, Arthur having to tap Francis to finally get his attention. Stupid frog wouldn't stop flirting!

Now that Arthur's errand was run, Francis taking a moment to realize what it was, not thinking it would have been for Alfred, they began to head home. Alfred would walk ahead of the other two quite often who were bickering like usual and after about half way home Arthur started to make sure Alfred couldn't hear him when he talked to Francis. He wasn't sure if he should try to talk to Alfred about what had been going on, or if he should just leave it be. After discussing it with Francis he decided to bring it up.

"Alfred." Arthur finally said.

"Yeah?" He responded, only turning his head enough to see Arthur.

"What…" Arthur hesitated, still not sure if he should bring this up. Francis elbowed him to get him to continue, "What is the last thing you remembered?"

Alfred stopped walking and stood stoic, causing the other two to freeze as well. Turning around slowly, Alfred's eyes were full of sadness, obviously going over the memories in his head. If Arthur wanted to know, he should probably share, even if it hurt.

"The last thing?" Alfred questioned, swallowing. Arthur nodded, "I… It was when I… Practically killed you, Iggy." He swallowed again.

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, "Then do you remember the conversation we had before you attacked me?"

"Conversation?" Alfred cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, "Other than me telling you about that dream I had, no. There was no conversation."

"Then you don't remember everything…" Arthur mumbled to himself, a hand on his chin as he looked to the ground,.

"What?"

"Nothing." Arthur looked back up to Alfred, ready to try a new tactic, speaking as fast as possible, "The Confederacy is the voice in your head, Alfred."

As soon as he said 'Confederacy', no matter how fast the words came from his mouth, Alfred's eyes changed. His eyes were not a bright blue anymore, but a deep brown and as Arthur finished his sentence an evil grin found its was onto his face. As soon as Arthur realized it he jumped back, and Francis stared at the boy who's demeanor had obviously changed tremendously.

"Hello, Confederacy." Arthur said as calmly as possible.

"Hey, Arthur." Alfred smirked, tilting his head, "I see you're trying to ruin my plans again and please, call me Alfred!" He laughed then turned to looked at Francis, "Hem, what a coincidence. All three of us in one place!"

"What do you want?" Francis asked sternly.

"Oh?" Alfred walked up to him, putting his arms around both Arthur and Francis's shoulders, starting to drag them off into the ally they had been standing in front of, "Nothing much." He giggled evilly, his insanity blatantly showing in his voice. He was beginning to sound scarier than Ivan, "I just want to have some fun is all!"

"Some fun?" Arthur shouted, trying to shove Alfred's arm off him but failing as Alfred strengthened his hold.

"Yup! Just some fun!" Alfred laughed again, his eyes glowing with insanity.

He continued to drag them into the ally, soon going around a corner and ending up at a dead end. Throwing the other two countries towards the wall, they both hit the bricks hard, Francis hitting his head and stumbling back, Arthur on the other hand used his arms to slow the impact. Alfred backed up, blocking the only exit and stood with his hands on his hips, smirking.

"So! I was thinking," Alfred began, an oddly dark, happy tone in his voice, "that maybe you two know to much!" He grinned.

"No shit." Arthur growled, glaring at him, "And I think you are an insane bastard! What are you playing at?"

Alfred snickered, "Hem. Well, I do think you two deserve some punishment for lying to me."

Francis shook his head, regaining part of his balance and looked at Alfred, "Lying when?"

"When ya said you'd help me in the war of course!" Alfred laughed.

"That was a bloody hundred years ago!" Arthur shouted back, grinding his teeth.

"And a hundred years is a lot of time for someone tah think." Alfred got very serious, but that evil smirk _never _left his face, and the more he spoke the more clear it became that he was indeed the Confederacy with that Southern twang beginning rolling off his tongue, "It's also a lot of time fer one tah be stuck in absolute nothingness. Hells are rotten place." He grinned again, "Now, let's have some fun!"

With that he took off, running full speed at the other men. Arthur gritted his teeth, planning to dodge Alfred's attack and run behind him, but instead Alfred aimed for Francis who was attempting to turn around. Instead he was caught up by Alfred's hand which shoved his skull back up against the bricks, then quickly Alfred moved just enough to where Arthur was unable to run anywhere, even if he attempted to doge. Swinging his arm around, Alfred put Arthur in a headlock, his grip so tight he began to strangle him.

Arthur's fingers attempted to pry off Alfred's arm, slipping everytime and only causing himself to choke more from struggling. Watching on, Arthur noticed Francis attempting to try and push himself off from the wall as well, a grin forming on Alfred's lips yet again, shoving Francis against the cold bricks harder. The next thing Francis new there was a massive pain shooting up from his chin to his forehead, a scream echoing off the walls as his face was drug across the hard, stone walls. As soon as his face reached the edges of the wall, or at least that which Alfred felt the need to stop at, Alfred lifted him up by his head, yanking his body and throwing him with all his strength. Francis hit the opposite wall at full force, blood spewing from his mouth as his head hit the wall and he fell to the ground.

Arthur, who was still choking, gasped, or at least gasped to the point in which he was capable of in his situation, stared at Francis who's skin had been partly ripped off his face, blood dripping from his open wound. Francis reached for his cheek, cringing as his hand touched the open flesh, blood covering his fingers. Alfred walked up to him, still dragging Arthur behind him, and snickered, soon bringing his foot around and kicking Francis in the ribs as hard as he possibly could.

Blood spewed from Francis's mouth again, and as soon as Alfred kicked him in the head, he blacked out, the pain to much for him to bare. After figuring Francis would bother him no longer, Alfred backed up and finally threw Arthur to the ground. Right when Arthur hit the concrete, he gasped, pulling as much air into his lungs as he could, almost having passed out from lack of oxygen. He coughed uncontrollably, using his hands to help him try to sit back up, falling down again every time he gagged. From the corner of his eye Arthur could see Alfred, or more like the Confederacy, walking up to him.

"Having fun yet, Arthur?" Alfred asked, reaching down and grabbing Arthur's skull.

He pulled him up off the ground, Arthur talking another few moments to try and gain back his breath as best as possible while Alfred gripped his skull tighter, inhumanly tighter. Arthur let out a small scream, soon biting his lip and gritting his teeth trying to withstand the pain, the idea of trying to punch the Confederacy going through his head. When he brought up his shaking fist that had sweat rolling down his arm, Alfred cocked his head innocently knowing what he was going to try.

"Iggy," He whined, hiding his ever growing southern accent, "you're not thinking of hitting me are you?" Alfred stuck out his lip, "I'm not _that _annoying, am I?" Arthur's eyes filled with both anger and tears as he gritted his teeth tighter together, hesitating to throw his punch.

"Stop acting like him, _God damn it_!"

The tears streamed down his face now as memories of the Alfred he so loved passed through his mind. Alfred's sweet smile, his obnoxiously sweet laugh, his way of brightening any room, his way of helping anyone who needed it, his way of making Arthur himself feel so much happier whenever he was around… His way of doing everything… Where had it gone? Why couldn't the Confederacy just give it back? Just give it back… Give it back… Give his life back…

Alfred let out a laugh, grinning evilly as his southern accent came back, "Alright."

With those words Alfred quickly reached his hand forward, grabbing hold of Arthur's wrist, keeping him from punching him and twisting his arm back, breaking the lower bones in his arm. Arthur screamed, falling to the ground right when Alfred had released him. He landed with his back up against the brick wall, coughing and cringing, grabbing his broken arm and holding it close to him.

Arthur glared up at Alfred who was smirking at him, that insane glow pouring out of his eyes., "Damn you…" Arthur mumbled, looking quickly around the ally to find something that might be able to help him, noticing a shiny object behind a trash bin. When the Confederacy was looking back at Francis, he slowly reached for it with his broken arm, withstanding the pain as best as possible, hoping the Confederacy wouldn't notice.

Instead the Confederacy _did _notice, turning around as fast as possible and slamming his foot down on the upper part of Arthur's arm, breaking his humorous bone, "Oh, no you don't!" He snickered, tilting his head just enough that it lit up his creepy smile. With that Alfred began kicking Arthur, blood beginning to make its way up through the Brits throat and out onto the concrete.

"A-Alfred!" Arthur screamed through his gagging, "Alfred-d! P-please l-l-liste-en t-t-to me!"

"He can't hear you." Alfred replied dryly, still kicking him, "He'll _never _be able to hear you."

"Y-you promise-d-d me you would t-try!" He continued to scream, ignoring what the Confederacy was saying, and ignoring, or attempting to, the pain on his side, "T-try damn i-it! You h-have to! You _have _t-to! P-please, A-Alfred! You _have _to be t-the h-hero!"

"Tsk." Alfred rolled his eyes, pausing for a second before some odd spark passed through his eyes, a grin slowly forming on his face.

And then Arthur felt the bones of his rib cage shatter, a scream unable to hold itself back echoing off the walls.

* * *

**Two more chapters left! Lets see what happens! You'll get to know in two weeks! **

**Anyways, I love reviews, they make me feel like my fic is worth reading. :) And for my next fic I'll start replying to all of you cuz I just didn't think of it this time...**

**Other than that, I should really finish my other fics, but theres an idea I'm really liking atm and I can't stop writing that fic, so, either the the sequel to this may die out before I have more than three chapters finished, or it will be up much later. Also, those who are reading tHFH, that ones not coming so well. I will try to update though!**

_**Bien Alors - Alright then**_


	18. Chapter 18

Alfred's eyes jolted open in panic, Arthur's scream ringing in his ears. Dark. The room he was in was _very _dark, empty, alone. Nothing. The room was _nothing_, stuck in absolute nothingness. His body was heavy, a burden on his heart somehow, one which made him want to puke, one which made him want to die. But, wasn't he dead? This had to be hell… What could be worse than this? This emptiness, loneliness, this _nothingness_…

Alfred closed his eyes again, forgetting about the scream which woke him, wanting to release himself from this cage, waiting to be released. _Waiting_. That's all he could do, and that's all he had ever done…

"_A-Alfred_!"

Arthur's scream echoed through the darkness, Alfred's eyes opening again as he heard his name called for the first time in this empty space. He had been here many times before, but the only time he ever knew of the rooms existence was while he was in it, always forgetting about it when he was released once more. Somehow, he knew this, but he only knew it here. It was always only here. Never in the real world. Or maybe, this was the real world, and the real world in which he thought he knew was a fake. Maybe the real world was all a dream and everyone was stuck in emptiness forever… Maybe that was why everyone was miserable all the time. Maybe-

"Alfred!"

Arthur's voice… If this was the real world, why would Arthur be here? How could he hear him? That couldn't really be Arthur. That voice wasn't Arthur's. He was hearing things that weren't really there.

"A-Alfred, I told you to l-listen to m-me!"

The more Arthur spoke the more Alfred could tell he wasn't speaking normally, something was wrong. He was coughing way to much, stuttering too which wasn't like Arthur at all. What was happening? Why could he hear this? This wasn't real! It couldn't have been!

"I-if you b-bloody promise s-someone, you _k-keep _that p-promise! Try! _Bloody t-try, Alfred! _It's the Confederacy, _damn it_! S-stand _up _to h-him!"

Alfred jumped up, glancing around the room quickly, remembering the conversation from before they left and his eyes widening as the realization of it being the Confederacy hit him. If the Confederacy was in this room since the end of the war… Everything made since now.

"Iggy?" He screamed, "What's _happening _to you? Where _are _you?"

"P-_please_! Be th-the hero! Be the b-bloody _he_-!"

"_Iggy_?" Alfred screamed, stopping dead in his tracks as Arthur voice was cut off, a scream echoing through the emptiness instead. He took a deep breath, looking around the darkness and taking off as fast as he could in a single direction, soon hitting the edge of this cage he was in. The same cage the Confederacy had been in in his dream… That dream was no dream, why hadn't he realized that before? Arthur obviously had.

Taking hold of the bars of the cage, he ripped them open, his determination to get out powering him more so than his own strength. He wouldn't allow Arthur to get hurt any farther, he wouldn't!

"_Shu'd up_!" Alfred yelled, his eyes widening as if something had been triggered inside him, and lifted Arthur up by his hair, "He can't here ya!"

Arthur screamed, the pain from his broken ribs and arm hitting him every time he moved, and it was getting harder and harder for him to breathe as well, "Th-then why are you so b-bloody anxious to g-get me to shut u-up?" He mocked, smirking back at the brown eyed Alfred.

Alfred gritted his teeth, glaring fiercely at the man he held up by the skull, his grip getting tighter and tighter. He looked down at where Arthur had been reaching for something before, cocking his head in wonder.

Letting out a pondering sigh he looked back up to Arthur, grinning evilly, "Wha' were ya tryin' tah reach just ah bit ago, hem?"

He bent down, still holding Arthur by the head, and picked up the knife that had been laying behind the trash bin, lifting it in front of his eyes. Touching the blade with his thumb small beads of blood began to run down his finger, proving it was still sharp enough to cut through flesh easily. A dark smile passed over Alfred's lips as he looked back to Arthur, lifting him back up in the air again not allowing his feet to touch the ground.

"Heheh, were ya _really _goin' tah attack me with this?" Alfred snickered, "Did ya think ya could do it?"

The tears Arthur had been crying started up again, "A-Alfred… P-please…"

_"He's not gonna hear ya!" _Alfred screamed, his southern accent at full force now as he brought the knife up to Arthur's neck, beginning to saw at his flesh, watching the red beads of blood flow down his skin.

"Alfred, what happened to being the hero?" Arthur screamed, tears streaming down his face from both the pain and being unable to do anything besides yell, just hoping the real Alfred would hear him, just hoping… He couldn't even fight back… He couldn't hurt his little brother, not like that.

"What happened to your promise? God damn it, Al! Where did _my _hero go?"

"Alfred, what happened to being the hero? What happened to your promise? God damn it, Al!"

Listening to Arthur's shouts, Alfred cried as he ran full speed through the darkness, trying to find a way to take his body back but never finding anything. What was wrong? Why couldn't he get out of the darkness? It wasn't this large in his dream, so why?

_"Where did my hero go?"_

Those words echoed off the walls, screaming at Alfred. _'Where? Where? Where? Where? Where did my hero go? Where did my hero go…?'_

"The hero doesn't believe in himself…" He mumbled into the darkness, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes, tears beginning to form, "That's why I'm not going anywhere… Damn it…"

Alfred came to a stop and rubbed his eyes with his arm, sniffling a bit. A few words from Arthur and his conversation from the night before came back to him, ones which he had forgotten Arthur had said.

"_Alfred, you can do just that. I know you can and I believe you can. So please, be the hero for me, be the hero and save yourself." _

Had his mind tried to forget those words? Even so, the words played over and over again, echoing loudly through the darkness. '_I believe you can. I believe you can. I believe you can. I believe you can.' _Believe. That's what Alfred needed to do now. He needed to believe.

Why wouldn't he be able to defeat him? He had beat the Confederacy during the Civil War, why wouldn't he be able to do so now? In the Civil War the Union had been the loser up until the Battle of Gettysburg, and up until now Alfred had been losing to him again. Just like in the war, he wasn't going to stay the loser forever, this he knew and now was the time to change that. If Arthur believed in him, why shouldn't he believe in himself? Why couldn't he believe in himself?

_"I'm not gonna believe another one of your lies!" _Alfred screamed at the top of his lungs, opening his eyes and running at full speed out into the darkness again, "Your _not _in control of me! I _will _save Iggy, and you won't touch my friends or my family _ever _again!"

The grin on Alfred's face grew wider as he watched Arthur's dark red blood drip down onto his fingers, laughing as he did so. His brown eyes shown with insanity, and all Arthur could do was scream and cry, hoping his little brother heard him. Oh dear God, _please _let Alfred have heard him! Please!

"_I'm not gonna believe another one of your lies!" _

Just then the Confederacy stopped dead, staring off into space and his hand dropping the knife. Arthur watched, cringing as the pain shot through his body, wondering why he had suddenly pulled away. That was when Arthur felt himself falling, crashing to the ground and his ribs falling in on his lungs even farther, the pain becoming antagonizing, his arm and neck not helping in the least.

'_Your **not** in control of me!'_

'_I **will **save Iggy!_

'_And you won't touch my friends or my family ever again!'_

Alfred screamed at the top of his lungs, stumbling backwards and covering his ears, his eyes wide open in what had to be fear, staring at the ground, "Shu'd up, ya damn Yankee!"

It was as if the rolls were reversed, this time the real Alfred being the one being the voice in the Confederacy's head. If the Confederacy had been the voices before and Alfred couldn't take it, was the Confederacy also at as much of a loss as Alfred was? Or was he stronger? These were questions Arthur began to ask himself as he watched Alfred throw himself around the ally, just like the real Alfred had when the voices started playing in his head while they were in New York City.

'_I'm not listening to you!'_

'_You're not me!'_

'_Give my body back, asshole!'_

"Shu'd up! Shu'd up! _Shu'd up_!" the Confederacy screamed, looking around the ally frantically. He must have known that if Alfred was able to speak to him in his head like this then he knew what was going on and could stop it somehow. That somehow though… What was it? Just pure willpower?

'_This is my life!'_

'_Not yours!'_

'_Your not in charge of what I do!'_

"No!" He screamed again, Arthur still watching as he continually stumbled through the ally, "No this is _my _world! _Mine_! Its mine! I'm the king! I rule here! Not you! _Not you_!"

'_It was never your world!'_

'_It never will be!'_

'_This is my life and I'm taking it back!'_

"No! I'm the winner! _I'm _the fuckin' winner!" His eyes caught sight of the knife that laid on the ground and he leaped for it, that utterly insane, sadistic glow in his eyes once more as he looked back at Arthur. Sharp daggers of hatred glared at the Brit, Alfred's face beginning to twist with the same disgust, gritting his teeth and running at full speed at him, knife in hand. Arthur's eyes widened in fear, and as soon as Alfred was only a few feet away he cringed and looked away, knowing he was going to probably be killed again.

After a few seconds Arthur looked up again, noticing Alfred had stopped dead, knife held tightly in both his fists, his hands shaking and eyes flashing between the colors of blue and brown. All Arthur could do was stare, the blade of the knife almost touching his flesh.

"I…" Alfred mumbled harshly, the southern accent still blatantly there, "'m… the winner… I'm supposed… tah be… the… winner…"

Just then Alfred quickly threw the knife, hearing it break in half as it slammed against the wall. He smiled, weakly, and he jumped up, bright blue eyes flashing past Arthur as he got up onto his feet, beginning to stumble again. Arthur assumed that the Confederacy wasn't done fighting yet, trying to regain control of a body that wasn't his, doing all he could to keep Alfred in the dark, but Alfred knew now, there was no way he was going to win. No wonder he had tried to keep it a secret.

Alfred had stumbled out into the middle of the ally, his hands over his ears as he threw his head from side to side, screaming. After a while, Arthur didn't know how long, Alfred's eyes suddenly went to their usual blue color, but he just stood there for a few seconds, and then he collapsed. It was almost as if it had been a rerun of when this all started at that meeting with the President and Prime Minister…

The next thing Alfred knew there was something touching his face. What was that something? He couldn't tell. Wait, wasn't he passed out? The touch on his face kept getting more annoying and suddenly Alfred opened his eyes and grabbed hold of whatever it was that was touching him.

Arthur let out a scream, trying to pull his hand back from the American who had almost practically crushed his wrist. Alfred let go as quickly as he could when he noticed it was Arthur, his eyes wide with fear from knowing he had just hurt him. Again… Arthur pulled his arm in close to his chest, not moving his other arm or body to much, or trying not to, cringing as more pain come onto him. Within a few seconds Arthur had given up on staying on his knees and fell forward, groaning slightly from the pain and his head landing on Alfred's chest.

"Iggy!" Alfred cried, lifting his head to try and see Arthur. He slowly moved, trying to sit up, holding up Arthur's head and setting it down again lightly on the concrete once he sat down on his knees next to Arthur's body, "Are you alright? What happened? What did he do to you this time?" By this time Alfred was trying to turn Arthur over on his back as painlessly as possibly, which only halfway succeeded by the obvious 'I'm in pain' groans he was making.

When Arthur was finally on his back and able to breathe a little easier, he smiled, "Hehe, I thought…" He was speaking slowly from having to stop and focus for a few seconds to get another breath of air, "You forgot…. About that promise…"

"Th-the one about trying?" Alfred asked, ruffling his eyebrows as tears pricked the edges of his eyes, "I think… That might have been why I could hear you…"

"Do… you remember… anything from… when you were-"

Arthur almost began gagging but Alfred cut him off, "When I was stuck in my own mind? Yeah… Just a little… It was dark and empty… I should call 911. Uh, wait. 999." Alfred reached for his phone, and after digging in his pockets for a while he realized he had lost it while he was in Alaska, "Shit. Iggy, where's your phone?"

"Left… front pocket…" Arthur mumbled, cringing as his breathing got harder, "I don't… know if it got… damaged… or not…"

"Don't talk more than you have to." Alfred said as he reached for Arthur's phone, dialing the emergency number and calling the police for medical assistance. He sat back down next to Arthur, looking down at him with sorrow filled eyes, "Iggy… I'm sorry… I… I was so stupid… I wasn't able to figure out that it was the Confederacy the whole time… I really _am _an idiot…"

"No… You knew… he was better than that…"

"Iggy! Don't talk!"

"Well don't… talk to me… if that's… how you feel…" Arthur managed to say, going back to focusing on breathing.

Alfred looked down at the ground, just waiting for something to happen, for the police to get there, but nothing happened for at least a few minutes.

"Go… Take a look… at Francis…" Arthur said suddenly, pointing over to the direction in which Francis was.

Alfred looked back, nodding and getting up to help out his friend, if anything by just laying him on the ground next to Arthur so the medics could take him easier. When he saw Francis he jumped back a bit, biting his lip as he tried to recognize the Frenchmen. Was that really Francis? My God he would be so pissed when he finally woke up… His 'great looks' as he called it had practically been ripped off. How was it Alfred who had done that? No, it wasn't Alfred. It was the Confederacy. He had to remind himself that.

Francis had been set down next to Arthur, the medics coming only a few minutes after that to take the two countries to the hospital. When Alfred was asked what happened he didn't answer, only telling them that he needed to talk to the head of the police department and to keep quiet for now until told otherwise. The officers did understand that Alfred was a country and had authority beyond theirs which made him eligible to request things to higher ups and have immediate access, so they did not bother with any more questions but went straight to cleaning up the mess. For all that Alfred knew the officers did not say a word, neither did the medics.

By the time Arthur had been brought up into an ambulance he passed out, not willing to keep himself awake any longer. Alfred road with him, watching as the medic's did their work on the way to the hospital and once they were there he waited, just like he had when Arthur had gone into a coma, just like Arthur had done for him so many times. He also waited for news on Francis's condition, wanting to know how badly his friend was hurt.

The news about Francis came first. There were no broken bones, and no major wounds other than the skin that had been ripped from his face which would probably take a few months to heal completely. Only a few cuts and bruises on his body and the rest was perfectly fine. He would probably be a sleep for a few days but nothing else major to worry about. That news took a weight off of Alfred's heart and he was able to rest easier.

Now the news about Arthur came back a while later. His arm was broken, all three of the major bones and at least three of his ribs had been broken. It was no wonder he was having difficulties breathing, having those bones broken and still being tossed around which couldn't have made it any better. Arthur's stomach had been bruised up pretty badly as well and his neck had a decently deep cut, but nothing that wouldn't heal. Thank god that knife hadn't cut any farther or else there might possibly have been more damage.

Alfred spent the next few days in the hospital waiting for Francis or Arthur to wake up, and in time the first person to regain consciousness was Francis. When he first awoke, he caught sight of his reflection and almost had a panic attack from the amount of bandages that were wrapped around his head from forehead to chin. When he had finally calmed down they both talked for a while about what had happened, Alfred sharing the details he knew of what occurred after the Frenchman passed out. After a bit the conversation changed into a more happy one, Francis letting Alfred talk about whatever he wanted realizing that he was finally acting like his usual self again after so long.

A day or so later Arthur too awoke, only moving slightly as he felt a sharp pain shoot up through his upper body, letting out a small scream.

"Iggy!" Alfred shouted, forgetting the conversation he was having with Francis and running to the Brits bedside, taking hold of his free hand, "Iggy! You're awake! Thank God! I was scared you weren't going to wake up!"

Arthur's eyes wadded in surprise at his once-colony's actions, soon remember the events from a few days before. He was about to speak up, but the pain the shot through his neck when he tried to look at Alfred caught his attention instead. His arm had been put in a full cast from his shoulder to wrist, propped up just slightly in front of him and his wrist, the one in which Alfred was holding, had a needle through his vain. That needle he assumed was giving him some sort of pain medicine for his broken ribs, or at least ribs he assumed were broken.

Arthur let out a moan as he tried taking a deep breath, "Well… This is not really the most comfortable to situations."

When Alfred didn't say anything Arthur glanced over at him, noticing the tears that pricked the edges of the teens eyes. Arthur's expression jumped in surprise, his eyes wide open as he looked at the blue eyed American, "A-Alfred! Y-you remember that this isn't your fault, yes?"

"Huh?" Alfred looked up, the tears still visible but having slightly disappeared, "Y-yeah… I know. I just don't like seeing you like this…"

Arthur smiled up at him softly, "This isn't that bad. I have been in worse condition over the past one thousand years."

Alfred let out a laugh, "Well… Get better soon!"

"You seem happier."

"He is." Francis interrupted, walking into Arthur's side of the room. They had both been put into the same room, which might have been due to the fact that they both were countries, "He is for sure. _And _he has a lot to tell you."

"Oh?" Arthur raised an eyebrow to Alfred who grinned back innocently, "And what would that be?"

"You fixed things." Alfred grinned wildly.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you! Who's the other huge eye brow freak here?" Alfred laughed, letting go of Arthur's hand and pointing to the Brits huge eye brows.

"H-hey!" Arthur shouted back, quickly cringing and placing his hand on his side, then looking back up at Alfred, "What do my eyebrow's have to do with any of this?"

Alfred laughed even harder, "Nothing really. Just felt like making fun of you!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "What else should I be told? That you're back to normal and insulting me all the time?"

"Hey, you insult me all the time too! We're even!"

"If anyone's insulted most in this room that would be me, merci." Francis interrupted again, leaning on the end of Arthur's bed.

"You do not count." Arthur glared, "The insults I give to you are only what I know as truth, frog."

Francis rolled his eyes as Alfred spoke up again, "Anyways, Iggy! What I really need to tell you is that things are getting better, for sure." Alfred put his fist on his heart, "And I'm not letting him get the best of me anymore!"

Arthur smiled, "I knew you could do it."

Alfred laughed a little, "But I didn't do anything! Like, at all!" With that Alfred turned to face the door way, beginning to walk to it, "Welp, I'm actually gonna try and go back to work. I'm getting kinda homesick or worksick…" He stopped walking when he reached the exit and looked back at Arthur, tilting his head and grinning, "I don't think that's a word though!"

Arthur rolled his eyes playfully, "No, it's not."

Alfred laughed even louder, "Well then! I'm making it into one!" He stopped both talking and laughing as a soft smile crossed his face, "But really, Iggy. I didn't do anything. I just gave in and gave up…"

"But in the end were you not what you always claim to be?" Arthur asked, "A hero?"

Alfred laughed again, "Hero's don't give up, though. I was no hero… But I know someone who was, who didn't give up on me, even putting themselves in danger for me, like a real hero would." Alfred grinned and turned to the door walking out until he only held onto the rim of the door and kept his head through the door way, "The real hero in this whole thing was you, Iggy."

As Alfred left the room Arthur stared back, shocked and having absolutely no words for the moment. What should he have thought of what Alfred just said? Wasn't he basically saying that Arthur was _his _hero? But how was that possible? Alfred always only thought of himself as the hero, not anyone else and _especially _not Arthur. Or at least Arthur thought so.

_But he had been… Alfred's hero._

* * *

**Alright! One more chapter! :) I didn't reread through this so if their are any spelling errors or anything, sorry. I will fix these after this weekend.**_  
_


	19. Chapter 19

_**Three Months Later**_

"Iggy!" Alfred shouted, glomping Arthur from behind who let out a small squeak, "What's up, dude?"

"Other than you possibly crushing my ribs more than they already are, not really anything else." Arthur managed to say all in one breath, trying not to show his plain.

"Oh… _Oh_! S-sorry!" Alfred stuttered, realizing that Arthur's bones were still broken and standing back up straight next to the Brit, "So… Uh… How are you? Is your arm any better?"

"Does it look better?" Arthur said, voice monotone as he glanced at his still fully casted arm.

"Uh… No… Sorry."

Arthur shrugged it off as he headed down the hall to the White House meeting room, "How have you been, Alfred? Has he been..?"

"Haha, nope!" Alfred grinned, placing his hands behind his head, "Everything's fine! Great actually."

Arthur smiled, "That's good then. Though if he ever tries something don't hesitated to ask for help."

"Alrighty! But I really don't think I'll be needing any help any time soon."

Just then they both come up on the meeting room doors, letting themselves in, the new President and Prime Minister already waiting in their seats. Since everything was back to the way it was, for the most part, Alfred and Arthur had to finish discussing that treaty, this time hopefully coming to a conclusion. The discussion went on for a while and just like the first time, Alfred was starting to get on Arthur's nerves, sometimes so much as to cause him to get up and start yelling at the teen. Though every time after he calmed down and took his gaze away from Alfred, he couldn't help but look back, smiling at the young man's cheerful face.

After a while Alfred stopped talking, which quickly drew the other three to concern.

"Alfred?" Arthur asked across the table, "Is anything wrong?"

No reply.

"Mr. Jones?" The President questioned, "Mr. Jones, are you aright?"

"Huh?" Alfred blinked a few times before he shook his head, "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be back in a few minutes." He got up out of his seat and headed for the door, "Can we pause the meeting? Thanks!" He rushed out and closed the door behind him.

"What was that about?" The Prime Minister asked, his strong English accent echoing off the walls.

"Not sure." Arthur responded, "Would you two men mind if I went to check?"

"I don't mind."

"Fine with me."

With that Arthur excused himself from the room, assuming Alfred must have run off to the bathroom. Alfred may have taken his leave just _to _go to the bathroom, but Arthur wasn't sure, he didn't want anything with the Confederacy to start up again. When he came to the bathroom, the closest one to the meeting room which had been a public restroom, Arthur let himself in, slowly at first incase anything was wrong.

"Alfred? Are you in here?" Arthur said coming around the bathroom waiting room corner, catching sight of the blond American leaning over the sink, "Alfred, are you alright?"

Alfred jolted up, quickly turning to look at Arthur, his big brown eyes staring at Arthur in surprise.

"A-Arthur!" He stuttered, that deep southern accent rolling off his tongue as he jumped away from the sink.

Arthur gritted his teeth, reaching into his pocket with his available arm and pulling out a pocket knife that he somehow managed to sneak past security, "Where's Alfred?" He screamed, pointing the knife at the Confederacy who jumped back and quickly brought his hands up in surrender, "Where is he?"

"Nah wait uh second, Arthur!" Alfred replied, flustered, "This isn't what ya think!"

"Like hell it isn't! I asked you a question!" He brought the knife up closer to the Confederacy's face, "Where's Alfred?"

"I said hold on!" Alfred growled, glaring at the knife which was now extremely close to his face.

'_Hey! Iggy doesn't trust you yet!'_

'_Let me back in control so I can talk to him!'_

The Confederacy's glare turned into an annoyed frown as he looked up, "Nah why would I do tha'?"

"What?" Arthur asked forcefully, now confused with the unrelated reply.

'_Just let me finish up the meeting, 'kay?'_

'_You can be in control when we get back home.'_

The Confederacy sighed and looked to the ground, closing his eyes, "Fine. But you better promise tha'."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Arthur snapped.

Alfred reached up and lightly pushed Arthur's arm down, finally lifting his head up and grinning, those bright blue eyes catching Arthur off guard.

"Everything's fine, Iggy!" Alfred said cheerfully, "No reason to have that knife pointed at me. Though I am kinda curious as to how you got it in here with all that security…"

"A-Alfred?" Arthur stammered, jumping back slightly, "H-how? …What?"

Alfred laughed then lifted a finger, "He's not a threat to me anymore, so there's no reason to get pissed at him when you see him." He smiled.

"What?" Arthur was utterly confused by this point, "What do you mean 'no reason to get pissed'? He was the one who bloody destroyed you!"

"That wasn't Will."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, "Will? You _named _him? And what do you _mean _it wasn't him? Of course it was him!"

"No, it wasn't" Alfred shook his head, "That was an insane Will, not the real one." The smile stayed on his face.

"I do not understand what you're saying, Alfred, and you _named _him?"

Alfred let out a laugh, "I didn't name him! He named himself!" A grin spread across Alfred's entire face, "It would have been too difficult for me to call him by my name all the time. Besides, I think William is an awesome name!"

Arthur sighed, "Alfred, I still don't understand how you're able to say he is not a threat."

Alfred lifted his face to the ceiling, placing his hand on his chin, "Well I _could _explain that too… If you want."

"Please do." Arthur shifted his weight to one leg, grabbing onto the side of his shirt with his free arm to hold it up comfortably, "I have absolutely no idea how you can say the things you are."

"Alright! But…" Alfred looked back at Arthur and put a hand behind his head, "I have no idea where to start."

"How about when you got on good terms with him? That seems to be a good place to start to me."

"Okay then. This might take a bit though…"

_**In Alfred's head while he waited at the hospital**_

Alfred walked for a long time through the darkness in which he had just recently ran out of, but this time he was determined on destroying that cage he had been in. That cage both the Confederacy and him had been in. After a long while the sight of the jail like barred cage came into view, a man who looked exactly like Alfred sitting on a hard, gray bench on the inside, glaring off into the dark nothingness. His gaze was harsh, soul piercing even, his eyes shown with hatred and the corners of his mouth made a nasty frown.

Calmly walking up to the edge of the cage Alfred stared in at him for a few seconds, the Confederacy not even taking notice to his presence.

"Hey, Confed."

The Confederacy jolted around, his glare even more unforgiving and evil then it was before now that his eyes were locked on Alfred, "Why are ya here, ya damn Yankee?" His voice was a harsh as gravel, ripping across the ground and tearing open the earth.

Alfred glanced down and then back up at the person that could have been his twin, even more so than Mathew, then reached his hand threw the bars as though he wanted him to take it, "Lets go. You don't need to be here."

The Confederacy jumped up, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists so tightly they could have started to bleed, his face twisted in anger, "Yer one tah talk, ya damn Yankee bastard! Yer the one who shoved me in here!"

Alfred kept his hand outstretched and his voice calm, "I'm sorry."

"Yer sorry? _Yer sorry_?" The Confederacy's voice got louder and louder, echoing through the emptiness, "Yer not sorry! Yer-!"

"I'm sorry that I locked you up here for so long." Alfred cut him off, "I didn't know you came back to me after the war, and that's why you ended up here. You may have been my enemy then, but you're just as much human as I am, you don't belong here. No one belongs here." He closed his eyes and sighed, soon looking back up and staring the Confederacy in his own eyes, "All I'm asking is that you let me take you out of this horrible place. I don't know if you will ever forgive me for what I've done to you, but I do know that this is no place for someone to live. You can get out of here; you don't have to be in pain anymore."

The Confederacy glared hard at Alfred, his unforgiving eyes trying to cut him into pieces. Why should he forgive Alfred? Why should he even come with him? He _hated _that Yankee, _despised _him. Why did he think he went through all the trouble he did to hurt him? For nothing?

"Please…" Alfred said softly, smiling, "Please come with me, just for a little. You can come back if you really want to. I promise."

"Why are ya smiling?" The confederacy said, partly disgusted, "I'm the person who was runin' yer life! Tryin' tah put ya in hell just like I still am in! Why are ya tryin' tah help me? Yer just some dick who thinks he can tell people what tah do! I ain't comin' with ya, ya Yankee bastard!"

Alfred giggled, totally not taking any offence at the remark, "I'm trying to help you for the same reason I'm smiling of course!" A grin grew on his face, "Because I don't hate you for what you did, but instead _I forgave you_."

The Confederacy jumped from the shock of the words and froze.

'_I forgave you.'_

'_I forgave you…'_

'_I… forgave you…'_

'_I… forgave… __**you**__…'_

How many times were those words going to repeat themselves? How many times? Tears made their way up to his eyes as he stared at Alfred, frozen in his astonishment. Over and over they played, almost until they began to drive the Confederacy more insane then he already was. Or was this… How just the edge of sanity felt? It had been so long since he was what you would call sane.

He shook his head, forcing the tears away and stared at Alfred once more, biting his lip, "_How_?" He yelled, his anger mixed with the tears he held back.

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked, cocking his head.

"How can ya have forgiven me?" He shook his head again, and Alfred laughed.

"How did I forgive you?" Alfred smiled, "Well that's easy! Even though you had caused me so much pain, I could never hate you. I could never hate anyone when I know they and everyone else are just searching for something more, and what you were searching for was an escape from this pain I put you in. When I knew it was my fault, when I knew this isn't the real you, how could I not forgive you?"

The Confederacy just stood and stared at him, having no idea what to say. He really had not expected anyone's forgiveness, and especially not Alfred's. After a few minutes of awkward silence the Confederacy swallowed, closing his eyes and sighing. When he looked back up he was biting his lip, beginning to shuffle himself over to where Alfred was still holding out his hand, and lightly took hold of it. Alfred smiled, taking a strong grip on his hand and turned around, beginning to walk off, turning his head back around when he began tugging on the others arm.

"You coming?" Alfred asked, his eyes as big as they could be.

The Confederacy stared at him, "Where are ya goin'? Ya didn't take down this cage, how are ya getting me out? Are ya an idiot?"

Alfred laughed, "Just trust me and follow!" He turned back around and began walking again, the Confederacy hesitantly attempting to walk, cringing as he reach through the bars, his body somehow fading through them.

His face lit up in surprise as he watched the cage disappear the farther they walked, soon being erased from the darkness completely. Within a few more minutes the darkness reached some sort of edge, a sudden cut off between darkness and light. Alfred walked out of the darkness with no problem, crossing over the line as though he had done it a million times, grinning wildly at the other man who still stood in the darkness, looking at the light as though it was foreign to him.

"Well?" Alfred asked, lightly tugging on his arm to try and get him to cross.

The Confederacy looked at the edge he stood at in wonder. How had he never seen this before? This… Edge. Was all he had to do that whole time find a way out of that cage and cross this line? Or was this only here because the real Alfred was with him? Or… Was this darkness something that his heart had made around him?

After pondering over all the reasons, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out, taking a step further and crossing over. As soon as that light hit him, he shut his eyes, lifting his arm to cover them as he cringed, trying to open his eyes in the brightness. The brightness… So… _Bright_. He had never seen such a bright light. It was bright beyond bright, a brightness that no person would be able to look at without going blind, but for some reason his eyes grew used to the light even though they shouldn't have.

After only a few second he was staring straight at the light, staring and staring. This light, it was so beautiful. So wonderfully beautiful. How could light have been this stunning? Never had he imagined something so lovely, and he could feel his mind slowly wrapping itself around the gorgeousness all around him, soaking it up and just wanting to stay there forever. He could practically feel himself melting into this warmth that surrounded him, the feelings he had held only moments ago slipping farther and farther away from him.

As he stared off into the endless white light he realized it was all around him, going on forever, just like the darkness had, but this time… It was something wonderful, not empty and horrid. Suddenly, he jolted upright, spinning around on his heel and looking behind him.

He let out a gasp, stumbling backwards and almost hitting Alfred, pointing off to the direction the darkness used to be, "Wh-where did it go?"

Alfred almost fell over laughing, "What do you mean?" He bent the upper half of his body down a bit and looked at the Confederacy's face from below, "It's only gone because you don't want it to be there anymore."

The Confederacy raised an eyebrow and looked down at Alfred, "Wha? But who ever said I didn't want it any more?" He crossed his arm and shifted his weight to one leg, "I never said anything like that…"

Alfred laughed again and stood back up, walking into the light before them, "Isn't this light amazing?"

The Confederacy got flustered, "Wh-what? Don't just go changin' the conversation like that!"

"Hem?" Alfred turned around, "I didn't do any such thing! It's the same topic, I just moved on." He grinned, "So, do you like this better? This is where I spend my time if I ever want to be by myself. I forget about the real world for a while and stay in here, sometimes having conversations with another."

The Confederacy cocked his head, "What? Another?"

Alfred's grin grew wider, "If you stay here you'll find him."

His grin dropped a bit as he looked up, "Actually, I haven't been here in a long time… I forgot about it through all this. I was so focused on trying to figure out what was wrong by myself, trying so hard to just find some way to get the pain to go away… I couldn't even remember such an amazing place. Yet I think this would have been the best place to fix everything." He turned and grinned again, "But I guess it did fix everything in the end!"

The Confederacy just stared back, so lost in this conversation he didn't have any idea what to say, so Alfred continued seeing his confusion, "Do you want to stay here?"

"Huh?"

"Stay here. Do you want to? You can live here from now on. I'm sure you'll find plenty to do." Alfred smiled.

"Uh…" The Confederacy looked around, "I guess. This place… Does feel pretty amazin'. Where is it anyway?"

"Where?" Alfred put his hand to his chin, "I'm actually not sure! But I know its somewhere in myself, somewhere…"

For once the Confederacy actually laughed, "If ya want me to stay here, I'm more than happy tah. This is wonderful."

"That's the Confed. I know!" Alfred shouted, slapping his 'twin' on the back. He started walking off a bit, but quickly turned around, "Hey! You want a name of your own?"

"Ah name? One other than Alfred or the Confederacy?"

"Yup. I'll let you choose if you want!"

The Confederacys face lit up, and a grin almost formed on his lips, "William."

Alfred cocked his head, "William? Why?"

William laughed, "'Cause, many of my generals were named William!"

"One of my main ones was to though… William T. Sherman. You hated that guy." Alfred quieted himself and spoke under his breath, "I don't really blame you either…"

"So? Not like ya can get ah name that wasn't on either of our sides." William crossed his arms and smirked, "I like William, besides it matches me, don't cha think?"

"It does, I guess!" Alfred laughed, "Well, Will, next time lets think of how to deal with the other issues of sharing a body, 'kay?"

William smiled, "Sure, but don't expect us tah be all buddy-buddy! I wont stand fer it!" An evil grin passed over his face, but it wasn't evil as it had been before, this time it was a joking evil grin, just like the Confederacy Alfred had known during the war.

"I didn't think so!" Alfred smirked back, "We were still once enemies. Our differences and quarrels are changing any time soon."

"Of course not, ya damn Yank!"

"Ha! You're still a dirty reb!" Alfred yelled, grinning and running off into the light, leaving William alone.

O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O

"William, huh?" Arthur said, tilting his head slightly, "And he can here all of this?" Alfred nodded, "Well then, William. Please forgive me for pointing that knife at you."

"Haha!" Alfred laughed as he began walking to the door and past Arthur, "I'm sure he doesn't mind, I mean you didn't really _know _anything."

Arthur's gaze followed Alfred through the room, "I am just glad he's not hurting you anymore. He really was just insane after all. Does this mean you are getting along well now?"

"Actually…" Alfred put his index finger on his chin, "We fight a lot… It kinda reminds me of you and Francis!" Alfred finish with a grin.

For a few seconds Arthur just stood and stared at the American, Alfred's expression dropping when Arthur said nothing. Suddenly the Brit bust out in laughter, loud laughter. He really was laughing quite hard, but Alfred had no idea what was so funny. After a few seconds of laughing Arthur reached for his side, shouting '_ow_' between his chuckling.

"What's so funny?" Alfred finally yelled, sticking out his lip, "It's true!"

Arthur tired his best to stop his laughing, the pain in his side becoming to great. Laughing that hard was not a good idea when you had broken ribs. He brought his hand up to his mouth, partly covering it as he began to speak as if he was trying to keep Alfred from seeing him still giggling.

"Its just that… I have never heard someone compare their relationship to Francis's and my own."

Alfred raised an eyebrow and spun back around to face the door and crossed his arms, "Well now you have! So there!"

This just caused Arthur to start laughing again, but he quickly regained himself and began walking past Alfred into the hall. Alfred followed, still pouting but then Arthur turned to look at him again.

"Alfred, you are an amazing country." He smiled as he watched Alfred's face light up in surprise at his words, "Don't you ever stop helping people, even if you need just a little assistance from others to do so."

He looked down and sighed, "You make me jealous. You've grown far beyond where I ever was in such a short amount of time. Never in my life have I been able to do half the things you do, never giving up on people no matter who they are. Even a person who had hurt you _so _much, you _still _forgave them. I would have never been able to do such a thing, even now I still cannot. How did you learn how to be like you are? It's as if someone taught you how to do these things, but I don't know of anyone who cares about people better then you do. But even so…" He took his gaze back to Alfred and smiled, "I think I've grown past jealousy… I think now I would say I'm proud to call you my friend. My _best_ friend."

With that Arthur looked away, quite quickly, and completely began to ignore Alfred. Though if he had been looking at the Americans face he would have seen the stars in Alfred's big, bright blue eyes, excitement and happiness beyond imagination shinning in them and how his grin could have stretched to the moon and back. Suddenly Arthur's body jerked forward, a weight hanging on the side of him, the side which wasn't broken thankfully. He felt arms wrap around his shoulders, squeezing him with massive strength and this person, obviously Alfred, so excited he couldn't keep still, causing Arthur to rock back and forth.

"Get off of me, you git!" Arthur shouted, attempting to shove Alfred's head off of his shoulder with his free hand, but the teen refused to move, "Get off of me! I did not say those things for you to use them as an excuse to hug me to death!"

No matter what Arthur said or did Alfred ignored him, just hugging him tighter and tighter. He was to happy not to! How long had he waited for Arthur to say those things to him since the war?

Unexpectedly Alfred stopped moving, but keeping his arms tight around his former caretaker he nuzzled his face into Arthur's shoulder. A huge smile was painted on Alfred's face, the happiness overtaking him.

"I love you, Artie." He said, "I love you so much. Thank you. For everything. Thank you, Artie."

* * *

**So, I think I ended this quite well if I do say so myself. Brotherly moments are always a good way to end something. Anywho, I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! Even though I ran into some bumps in the road that halted its completion by a few months, its now finished! I would LOVE to hear what you guys thought of this whole thing. I would love it. It would make me feel really good to know how many of you loved this. :)**

**I won't stop writing Hetalia fanfiction for quite a while, and my ideas keep piling up. Most involving America and England like this one did. ;D I**** hope you enjoyed this fanfiction! **


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